


Cas and Dean's Infinite Playlist

by kkingofthebeach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Music & Bands, M/M, it's not one of my fics unless there's frottage right, many many dumb music references, my first proper fic since orion pls be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkingofthebeach/pseuds/kkingofthebeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist AU] Dean is the strange bassist and Cas is the Catholic schoolboy, and really, they should never have crossed paths. But Dean is asking Cas to be his boyfriend for five minutes and suddenly it's a whole night of cross-dressing cabaret, mixtapes, rock bands, and driving around New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chuck's

**Author's Note:**

> I'm about to make a lot of declarations of love. For starters this fic probably wouldn't have made it past dumb night-blogging stage if not for Claudia, and it's birth is also the birth of our friendship (ew) and she's been all sorts of wonderful throughout this whole thing and has stopped me going completely insane from trying to adapt both a book and a film into one fic (ily alfredo). Here's to my cheerleading duo, [Anja](http://wolfcas.tumblr.com) and [Joni](http://sarahsblake.tumblr.com), who have suffered many out of context snippets and stayed up with me all night on skype while I try to write fic both drunk and sober (never again anja omg). To [PJ](http://hewaslost.tumblr.com), who is blissfully wonderful as always and my actual rock, cheering me on until the very last moment like the fabulous wife she is. And lastly, to everyone on tumblr who has shown an interest in this fic and been generally amazing ;u;
> 
> lastly, there is an actual mix to go with fic, over on [8tracks!](http://8tracks.com/between2devils/cas-dean-s-infinite-playlist)
> 
> p.p.s. Anna's role is sort of complicated, she's not the "villain", but there is a lot of unravelling of her.

**_ Cas_**

Cas has his headphones on as he walks down the hall to his locker, listening to the same song he’s had on repeat ever since he heard it playing in a record store in Brooklyn. Although the main reason he has his headphones on in the hall is because he _really_ doesn’t want Anna to approach him, because he knows that she’ll ask what he and Balthazar are doing this weekend and she probably won’t approve.

He has his head buried in his locker when someone comes up behind him and pulls his headphones away from his ears, before letting them snap back into place, and Cas doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Balthazar. He takes the headphones off anyway and leaves them around his neck so he can rub at his ears as Balthazar grins.

“I have a plan.”

“Lord, help us all.” Cas sighs, because whenever Balthazar has a plan it’s usually code for Something Castiel Would Never Do. 

“Oh piss off; you’ll like it!” And Cas just wrinkles his nose because Balthazar always sounds _extra_ British when he’s trying to coerce people into sleeping with him – and Cas resents him using the same charm now. 

“Fine – but promise me you won’t get drunk and leave me by myself! Every time Balthazar – every time!” Balthazar rolls his eyes at the whine, but Cas is completely entitled to it. 

Balthazar is always dragging him out to clubs and bars that they’re definitely too young to get into to, but always do anyway, and Balthazar always ends up abandoning Cas to slobber all over somebody he’s just met. It’s a never-ending circle of Cas bringing him home to drool all over his pillow, Balthazar slurring about how he’ll never drink again, until they do a repeat in a fortnight’s time. 

“Scout’s honour!” Balthazar holds two fingers over his heart as he grins at Cas. The warning bell rings and Balthazar is positively giddy already; he straightens out Cas’ blazer and starts telling him which place they’re going to first and who they’re going to see. 

It’s about that time that Anna strolls up, and Cas wonders if other people see them and are confused as to why they’re all friends, because Anna looks like a different rank to them. The sleeves of her blazer are rolled up and she looks effortlessly cool, as if she rolled out of bed with her skirt perfectly smooth, her socks pulled up to her knees, and Cas thinks she probably only has to shake her hair to get it to lie flat and neat. 

He, on the other hand, usually looks like he’s just left his bed too, but not in a good way. His hair won’t stay down and he’s stopped trying to do anything about it, and he can never keep his tie straight or stop his blazer from getting creased. 

“What’s up?” Anna asks, but there isn’t even a pause for them to answer because she’s already pulling something out of her bag and holding it up in front their eyes. “He made another one – should I say something to him?” She grimaces, and what Cas can’t believe is that this is the same girl he knew a year ago. 

“Wait--” Cas says hesitantly, but Anna is already throwing the cassette tape into the trashcan at the end of the row of lockers, quietly mumbling to herself. She turns back to face them, shaking her head. 

“You’re going to be late for class.” She says sternly, because even though she’s something of a heartbreaker, she likes to try and keep Castiel and Balthazar on the straight and narrow. 

As soon as she starts walking in the other direction Cas is itching to reach into the trashcan, and Balthazar doesn’t miss the way he looks at it anxiously.

“Don’t – don’t you dare.” 

But Cas has already rushed over to retrieve the tape from the top of the trash, staring at it intently as he turns it over in his hands. It’s just like all the others: a cassette in a plain plastic case, a slip of paper in the back that lists all the tracks, and scrawled handwriting on the front that reads _Anna – from Dean._

“These mixes are so perfect… who _is_ this poor bastard?” Castiel mutters, because everything he knows about him has come through the grapevine. The only thing he knows first-hand is that this guy is the only reason he’s grown to like classic and alternative rock so much. 

“Oh God, it’s pathetic – you are so in love with this guy.” Balthazar groans, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and shaking him briefly. Cas screws up his face at Balthazar’s look of unadulterated pity, and pushes him away.

“I’m not in love with him, don’t be ridiculous.” Castiel scoffs, and he slips the tape into his bag and they start walking to the history department. “I have no idea who he is, I’ve never met him – I’m just going to convert this onto my IPod.” Balthazar raises his eyebrows at him dubiously, but drops the subject. 

Balthazar spends the rest of the day telling Cas about this girl he slept with last weekend; some indie band were playing a show and he had convinced her that he was their tour manager, or something else equally as unbelievable. He’s always doing this, and each time Balthazar tells Cas how he’s managed to charm his way into someone’s pants, Castiel loses another shred of respect for humanity. 

Castiel meets up with Balthazar again at around seven, and staying at his house for a while so they can have a few pre-drinks. Which translates to Balthazar drinking half a bottle of wine before they go out, while Cas watches television and tells him to hurry up. 

He manages to shoo Balthazar out eventually, but not before he can fill up a water bottle with vodka and hide a hipflask of whiskey in the inside of his jacket. Cas wonders how he hasn’t shrivelled up and died from alcohol poisoning already, but somehow he always manages to bounce back after a day or two.

They endure the worst ride on the subway ever to get where they’re going. Balthazar is too excitable and keeps talking to strangers – keeps _groping_ strangers – and Castiel has to pry him away from several men that are too eager to take advantage of him. He already knows how this night is going to end – Balthazar is usually good at keeping his word, but if he thinks Cas won’t hate him forever he’ll go back on it now and again. 

It’s when they’re walking down the steps that lead into the club that Cas thinks about how he’d rather not be there, but instead at home, curled up in the couch with his cat and a good movie. But he can’t leave Balthazar and there’s no point in going now. He does know some of the bands playing, and he supposes it’s better than most of the other places Balthazar would take him to. 

The first band that plays is a queercore trio called Hell Hunters, and Cas has managed to keep Balthazar in his reach so far. He’s completely trashed already, and Cas probably should have tried harder to stop him from downing those tequila shots when they got into the club, but Balthazar’s not a child and Cas isn’t a babysitter.

Saying that, Cas doesn’t want Balthazar to stray too far from his sight, otherwise he knows he’ll end up finding him in some back alley, about to fuck someone or get fucked, while high and drunk out of his mind. Cas also knows he’ll be the one who will have to drag Balthazar away from his activities and clean up the vomit, before bringing him home to sleep in _his_ bed. So when that’s the alternative, he is perfectly content with Balthazar standing too close to him as they watch the band.

“You dirty little minx,” Balthazar jibes, a horribly devious smirk on his face as he turns to Cas.

“What?” 

“You’re practically blowing him with your eyes!” He slurs, before he laughs loudly and gives Cas a smack on the ass as he watches the bassist on stage carefully. Cas is speechless and can’t form a single word to throw back at Balthazar; he just stands there with his mouth slightly ajar, looking from the bassist to Balthazar and back again. 

“I’m not – nobody can even – that’s not possible.” Cas peels Balthazar’s hand away from his butt and gives him the stink-eye, but he can’t deny that he was staring. “Well maybe _you_ can…” Cas adds when he sees the way Balthazar is eyeing up a girl standing on the side of the stage.

Cas, quite frankly, is offended – since when is it a crime to look at someone? Balthazar does it all the time, in fact he doesn’t even look – he _leers_. So what if Cas was staring at the guy – there’s something interesting about him. He looks different to everyone else in the room – hell, he looks different to everyone in the city. 

There’s no way he could be a home-grown New Yorker in an underground rock band when he’s wearing _those_ clothes and has _that_ haircut. There’s something in his eyes too, as though nothing matters to him more than the loud thrum of each note he beats out, the steady bassline to the mess of angry guitar riffs and vocals that are half snarled.

Castiel is drawn in by the concentrated focus on his face; he almost feels as if the bassist has created his very own gravitational pull and he’s stuck in the middle of it, being gradually reeled in. Cas is fairly sure that he knows he has this effect on people, because when he looks up again he’s smiling playfully and purposely. 

Most of the audience are focused on the singer as she shimmies out of her leather jacket to reveal a worn and torn Ramones shirt with the sides cut out to her waist. But there are handfuls of girls breaking up the crowd’s fascination with that image, and they’re swooning over the bassist and flashing their bras for him if means he’ll throw them back a wink and a full-on grin. Some of the guys are worse though – Cas can see them undressing him with their eyes, the bite of lips as they stare up at him and reach out to chance a touch, but when the bassist notices this kind of attention he just blushes faintly and returns it with a sheepish nod.  

Hell Hunters are actually playing a good set, but Cas doesn’t get to appreciate it for much longer because Balthazar officially becomes an issue. He manages to slink away from Cas’ side and over to the far corner of the room where a group of guys have moved to. After Cas realises, he deliberates whether it’s safe to leave Balthazar with them for the time being - except he doesn’t really have the capacity to care anymore, because some guy is trying to roughen up the crowd and punches him in the side of the neck, and now Cas needs a drink to stop himself from punching the guy right back.

He’s in the densest part of the crowd and has to push his way through sweaty bodies to reach the bar, rubbing against the sticky skin of hipsters in baggy tank-tops and wannabe punks who have already torn off their shirts. Cas is pretty grateful for his long-sleeved sweater – even if it means he’s overheating – because at least he’s not directly mingling in other people’s bodily fluids. 

Balthazar had tried to pry the thing off him before they went out, saying that nobody would ever go for him if he covered up all the goods; but Cas had just shoved him off, thinking about the obscenely deep cut V-neck that Balthazar would have him wear instead. 

When he finally manages to squeeze into a space at the bar, he’s squashed next to the girl he’d seen Balthazar ogling before. In the dim light overhead he can recognise her now; she’s the singer of another band playing tonight, a kind of creepy, devil obsessed, rock band called Meg And The Dregs. Cas isn’t all that keen on talking to her, but she’s taken one look at him and is already sliding one of her shots across to him, and Cas isn’t about to pass that up. 

 

**_ Dean_**

Dean pretends that none of today has happened up until this point. It’s much better for his pride if he tells himself that he didn’t drop off another mixtape in Anna’s mailbox this morning, because that’s just plain _embarrassing_. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this: so sentimental and cracked. Well, he does know – it’s because he’s always been the one doing the dumping, and he feels strangely inadequate now.

He lets himself get buried in the music, because as pretty and sexy Anna may have been, she’s nothing compared to the feeling of his fingers sliding against the strings of his bass, or every thrum that vibrates through his body. He’d always liked the sound of Anna’s moans, but when he’s here, completely surrounded by nothing else but the music they’re playing, the sound of pounding guitars and gravelly vocals will always be better than hearing Anna in bed. 

He’s not exactly sure how he got here. One minute he’s the new kid, a total nomad and completely lost in the bustle of New York, and next thing he knows two girls wearing biker boots and leather are asking him if he can play bass. He’d always wanted to be in a band, he didn’t think it would get anywhere, just something to pass the time until college or fulltime employment. As a fourteen year old he imagined he’d be playing guitar in a classic rock cover band, but Jo already plays guitar and even though Pamela shares his music taste, she wants to write her own songs. Sadly, they save the Zeppelin covers for practices into Jo’s basement.

None of it matters though, because he’s dripping sweat and pouring his soul into hitting every note and Jo is crossing the stage to stand in front of him, and they bare everything to each other, punching out a perfect noise as their guitars layer over each other. He mirrors the grin that stretches across her face and they’re thrashing their heads in time to the song before Jo is flailing and jumping, and Dean doesn’t know how she can give such a physical performance without ever missing a beat.

Dean looks up and the whole crowd is watching them, and he wants to punch the air with his fist because they’re the crappy opening band and people are _interested_. People are jumping and pogoing in the crowd, crashing into each other and getting as lost as Dean feels. 

There are guys wolf whistling at Pam as she bends over the edge of the stage and they obviously aren’t listening to the lyrics because she’s singing about why she fucks girls instead of boys. Dean thinks this is what heaven should be like: good music and cheap beer and girls lifting their shirts up for him, otherwise something is _clearly_ wrong. 

His eyes skate over some of the guys in the crowd, the ones that are eyeing him up as if he’s meat on a stick being dangled in front of them. There’s one that hasn’t stopped staring for the whole song, but he doesn’t look predatory like the others, he looks like he’s worshipping at Dean’s feet. But when Dean looks up again he’s gone, and in his place he sees her and his fingers fumble across the strings for a second. 

He remembers what he last said to her. _Don’t come to the shows, just don’t._ And she’d agreed to it easily, saying she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She’d screwed everything up when she said it was over – his mind has been haywire ever since, two weeks of feeling strangely splintered and half-empty. Fuck her; because he thought that was it and it really was over, but it’s not, it can’t be when she shows up at his gig just to torment him. 

There’s another guy with her, his chest is pressed to her back and Dean wants to shove a bargepole between them. It hurts and maddens him that Anna would have the nerve to stand there and smile at him with a fucking douchebag hanging off her arm; he has floppy hair and fancy shoes and an earring and Dean wants to punch him in the face. 

It’s not as though he was in love with Anna, so he’s not sure why the sight of her has killed his buzz so badly. They’d dated for a long time, _too long_ , that was the whole problem. She was only ever supposed to be a one-night stand, but he happened to like her company and she made him feel significant, so he called her back. There were months and months of casual hangouts that eventually turned into dates, hook-ups that eventually turned into monogamous sex. Dean had told her right from the beginning that he wasn’t looking for a long term deal, he’d only just moved there and he had baggage; it would just make things complicated and he needed to get through senior year with good enough grades to get a scholarship for college.

 _Clearly_ that went wrong somewhere along the line. And he’d liked it for the most part, but the longer it went on the more he realised that they weren’t as similar as he’d thought, and they’d fight like hell but it usually worked out okay. Dean had worked really hard to make sure it _did_ work, if he was going to do it he wasn’t going to half-ass anything, so having Anna dump him out of the blue for no specific reason other than ‘space’ was like a bomb dropping. 

Dean tries to push her out of his mind, but how the fuck can he do that when she’s standing _right_ there. His hands are still a little shaky, and suddenly Jo’s guitar is speeding up and they don’t even have a fucking drummer so he’s struggling to keep up and stay in time, and Pamela is adding in another verse that he’s never even _heard_ before.

Just like that, the spell is broken and everything is starting to crumble around him. He turns away from the crowd – turns away from Anna – just until he can find himself and get everything sorted. By the time he turns around again, Pamela is kneeling on the floor and finishing up the song, tipping her head back as she wails a final note that shakes the speakers. 

Their time is up and as always, Pamela lets herself be swallowed by the crowd and leaves Dean and Jo to pack away the equipment. People are shouting for another song, but the next band is hovering at the side of the stage and Dean doesn’t feel like performing anymore. Some guys in the next band decide to help out, and together they pull apart leads from amps and lay instruments in their cases and carry everything into the wing. Jo says she’ll move everything to the van and tells him to have fun, so he has no choice but to head for the bar and mope. And possibly drink the uneasy feeling in his stomach away. 

When he gets there, Pamela is sitting in the lap of a pretty blonde girl who’s laughing as Pamela talks into her ear. She looks vaguely familiar, and maybe he’s seen her at another show or something, but he doesn’t care enough to dwell on it. He goes up to Pamela and she instantly introduces Dean as “bass god and Kansas badass”, and the girl is introduced as “Ruby from Ruby Does Ruby”. Dean has no doubts that Pamela can sense what he’s feeling, and she probably knows that Anna is here too, but she’s too preoccupied with Ruby to ask him what’s wrong. There’s just an awkward lull in the conversation and Dean knows where he’s not wanted, so he shifts to another part of the bar and waits for the barman to free up. 

Meg And The Dregs have started playing now, and the guy standing next to Dean puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly, the sound travelling over the noise of people still talking. Dean can appreciate that – it’s an old-fashioned trick but it’s a hell of a lot cooler than a wolf whistle, and it takes a certain degree of skill to perfect to that level. 

He looks a little too clean to be here, but not douchey enough to be one of the hipsters. His hair is a little overgrown and sticks up wildly at the front, but it’s a natural mess rather than a perfectly sculpted style. He’s slim, but not bony, although the beige sweater he’s wearing hangs off his shoulders and sort of swamps him. Just as he’s about to order a beer, Dean looks at the guy again and recognises him as the same one from the crowd earlier, the only one who stared a lot and _didn’t_ made him feel uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Maybe if things had taken a different turn tonight, Dean would have asked what his name was and buy him a drink, maybe he would have even taken him out in the Impala. But all he wants to do is bury himself in alcohol and pretend he’s not feeling what he’s feeling, and if this guy with the blue eyes and baggy sweater asks him if he’s okay, he’ll probably just groan and smash his head on the bar. 

Dean still doesn’t get to order his goddamn drink because the next thing he sees is Anna coming towards him with her new guy hanging off her. She’s still a fair distance away, but if he tried to bolt she’d see the commotion as he tried to push through the crowd. She’d think that he can’t handle it, and Dean is not about to be edged out of his own show. But what exactly is he supposed to do when Anna is showing off the new model and wants him to see it – she _wants_ Dean to know that she wasn’t lying when she said she was tired of him. He can see just where this scenario is heading; Anna will stop in front of him and smile sweetly – it won’t reach her eyes though – then she’ll say _great show, you were good_ before introducing the guy. Then she’ll round it off with some awful like, _so how are you doing lately_ and she’ll probably reach up and squeeze his shoulder and he’ll squirm at the contact. 

Anna spots him, Dean can see the recognition flash across her face. So without thinking he turns to the guy in the sweater who he doesn’t even know and puts on his best smile. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but would you please just pretend to be my boyfriend for five minutes?”

 

**_ Cas_**

Meg from Meg And The Dregs is adamant that the bassist from the queercore band is straight. She’s staring the guy down with an amused interest as his band plays their last song, something sultry and fast and eighty per cent fiery angst.

“No – he’s definitely gay.” Cas replies, considering the bassist with a slight tilt of his head. 

“No gay guy in the music industry dresses that badly – how many layers is he even wearing?” Meg raises her eyebrows at Cas and looks at him smugly, turning to the bar to down a shot of something murky and brown. 

“He’s the only male in a queer riot-grrrl revival band, and you’re talking about his _clothes_?” He doesn’t think his reasoning is much better than Meg’s, but he’s come across plenty of gay guys that dress like they’re deer hunting, trucker cap wearing, gruff _men_. She’s still not convinced though, and downs another shot before excusing herself and disappearing. 

But just because Cas thinks – no, is _sure_ – that the scruffy, Midwestern-looking bassist is gay of some description, it does not mean he wants to be his fake boyfriend when he comes by ten minutes later and pops the question. Definitely not – Cas has _morals_ , he’s a good Christian boy, and he doesn’t go gallivanting around with strangers who wear three layers of shirts inside a club, just because they ask semi-politely. That’s what he tells himself anyway, before he thinks it through logically.

Cas needs to get Balthazar home in one piece – that’s the most important thing, and he’s constantly worrying about it because Balthazar won’t. But Cas had seen Layers over there lugging equipment off stage earlier, while the singer of his band slipped away to get frisky or get drunk – or both. Cas can empathise with that, staying behind to pick up the pieces and clean up everybody’s mess – that feeling is a familiar friend to Cas. 

He’s not complaining, not really. He loves Balthazar to pieces, and doesn’t mind the fact that he’s a shameless, attention-seeking drunk, who doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Castiel isn’t like that, and he can’t make himself be like that, but there is a certain kind of thrill that comes with accompanying someone who _is_ like that. 

Besides, they’ve been friends since they were in diapers and Balthazar is the brother (with an extremely bad influence) that Cas never had. And Balthazar listens to Cas talk about philosophy and politics and theology, and doesn’t make him feel like he’s being ignored or overlooked, so yeah, Cas figures he owes it to Balthazar to prevent him from choking on his own vomit in a ditch somewhere.

The point is – if Layers dragged all that equipment off stage, it means he has a van. It’s probably a piece of tin crap and Cas will probably be clutching onto the doorframe for dear life when he’s inside of it, but it’s a moving vehicle. And if kissing Layers means he can cop a free ride, then Cas will take the chance of him being some psychotic deviant if it means he doesn’t have to take Balthazar on the subway. But Castiel prides himself on being able to read people, and he’s fairly sure Layers is not a murderer or a psychopath – otherwise he wouldn’t be looking at Cas with big glossy eyes right now, a little like a desperate child. 

Cas ignores the part of him that wants to lean into Layers and kiss him six ways from Sunday, the same part that melts over his sheepish sort of smile and an accent that definitely Midwestern. He pushes all of that down, swallows it well and good, and scans the immediate area for Balthazar.  It’s packed in there though, and not only are the bodies tightly compressed like sardines in a tin, but Layers is standing directly in front of Cas and blocks his view with his height advantage. 

Balthazar has been latching onto Meg, and Castiel thinks she’s okay, if he’s talking about ‘okay’ in Balthazar’s standards and not his. She probably couldn’t coax him into doing anything he didn’t already want to do, and while she’s definitely on _something_ , at least she’s not snorting lines in the bathroom like half the other people there. 

It’s just as Cas decides that Balthazar will be fine for a few minutes without him, that he sees Anna. She’s making her way through the crowd towards him, and it’s almost as if they all part for her. It makes Castiel want to slink back into the throng of people away from the bar, which would ultimately be better than having to talk to Anna and pretend nothing has changed between them. He clenches his jaw and wonders how Anna even knew that he and Balthazar would be there, annoyed that she had to go and put a damper on his night. 

She’s walking in a way that makes her hair fan out and the lighting from the stage shines behind her, making her bottle-red dye-job look even more vibrant than usual. Everyone in the immediate area gawps as she moves – practically gliding like some graceful creature, and she sticks out like a sore thumb in the grimy and dingy surroundings. She’s beautiful, Cas has always known this, and even though she looks out of place it just makes her look better. 

Cas realises that yes, she is in fact heading right towards him, not just his general direction to reach the bar. So he does the only reasonable thing he can think of that will prevent Anna from recognising him, and he grabs Layers by the back of the neck and pulls him down into a kiss. He yelps a little out of surprise and Cas almost thinks he’s resisting and about to pull away, when his lips become pliant and open against Cas’. And _fuck_ , he really didn’t expect Layers to be such a good kisser, and he’s cursing Meg in his head because he is definitely not straight – not with the way his tongue is slipping into Cas’ mouth with slow intention. Cas lets out a small sigh when Layers grabs the front of his sweater and tightens his grip, pulling Cas in closer. 

Cas really doesn’t expect to get a boner from a first kiss with someone he barely knows, but this doesn’t feel like _just_ kissing. It feels like there’s a battery between their mouths and tiny electric currents are connecting them. And it’s not as though it’s his first kiss ever, but it feels like it should be because kissing has never felt like this before – it’s always seemed a little empty and just wet and _nothing_ – but kissing Layers makes his skin feel too tight and constricting and his blood is on fire.

Cas is only human though and pulls away to breathe, but then Anna is standing right there and staring at the two of them. She has a new guy hanging off her arm: a friend of Brunette Ruby, whose band, Ruby Does Ruby, is supposed to be playing next. Cas wonders if Anna knows her new victim is another castoff of Balthazar’s; she should expect it by now, the guy has slept with almost everyone they know. He’s a sexual fiend and he has a problem, but his impeccable charm prevents anyone from actually hating him for it. Anna is always stuck with Balthazar’s leftovers though, and Cas feels a pang of sympathy for her. 

“Dean? Cas? How do you two know each other?”

Cas tries to keep his expression blank; there are too many questions running through his mind that he wants answered, but can’t find the courage to ask. He wants to know why everything is different, why there’s a rift between them that never used to exist. Why Anna is still the sarcastic bitch he knew and loved, but no longer counteracts it with the caring sister-like affection for him, and him alone. He isn’t sure how long it’s been – months before she even started dating Dean. 

They’re all heading for separate colleges after the summer, and even though Cas won’t admit it, he wants things to be like they used to again. He assumes it’s something he’s done; because no matter how much Balthazar gets on Anna’s nerves she’d never let him drive her away. She’d been looking at him differently when it started, something in her eyes that Cas couldn’t recognise. And then it was like she just disappeared; never coming with them to go out on the weekends and keeping their friendship very much within the school walls. 

The irony is that when Dean came along, Cas assumed Anna would be even more distant from them, but it brought them back together a little. She liked telling Cas about Dean; how she didn’t have that much in common with him but Cas probably would, handing out those mixtapes and never commenting when Cas didn’t give them back. So yeah, he’s wounded, but Anna always told him never to let people know when you’re vulnerable, so he tapped into his pride reserve and became a little spiteful as a defence mechanism. 

Then there is Anna’s new _friend_ to consider. He looks pretty sketchy, not that it’s anything unusual for where they are. Cas’ uncle, Chuck, owns the place and Cas thinks he needs to have a little chat with him about his clientele. At least this guy can stand up straight; the worst are the junkies that are only half conscious and slumped in the bathroom while they shoot up. The ones who drink so much that they puke all over bar and crowd, and the ones who are selling sex in every shadowy nook. Cas wants to transform the place, stop it from becoming a crack den with great music and focus on getting the best underground bands and an appreciative audience. He just has to get through his year off volunteering, and when he comes back Chuck will have something lined up for him.

He realises that Anna had asked him a question and he hasn’t said anything, he’s just been staring at her with hard eyes. Shit – what does he even say to that? _I only just met this guy but I think I want to keep him, and no – I won’t share._ He doesn’t know whether he _should_ say anything; if Anna catches wind that he’s even into Layers she might want him back. It’s not as if Cas is always going after guys, but she always saw Cas like a little brother and wanted to protect him. And he knows from experience that Anna will do _a lot_ to keep him safe.

He also knows she’s not being a vindictive bitch and she’s not entirely to blame; it all comes from her less than wonderful family. Her parents are, shall we say, negligent, and it seems to be a common occurrence throughout their circle of families. And whatever she expected and didn’t get from her parents, she sort of implements on Cas, as if she has to make it work with _someone_. It’s typical: all the wealthiest kids having fucked up domestic lives. 

Cas still doesn’t know what he should say though, so he settles for draping an arm around Layers so that he has a firm grip on his shoulder. He’d become tense and stiff, but Cas feels his muscles begin to relax under his hold. Anna stares at Cas’ hand, and her expression barely changes other than her eyebrows drawing together. She forces a smile and Cas doesn’t miss the way her nostrils flare, and in an instant she’s grabbing her guy’s hand and leading him away. 

“How the fuck do you know Anna?” 

For a moment Cas thinks he looks angry, before he realises that Layers is only frustrated by his own confusion. Cas doesn’t care for his brashness either, and is about to shoot back a coarse remark about how _he_ knows Anna, when he remembers what Anna herself had said. 

She’d called him Dean. 

 _Fuck_. 

Layers is _Anna’s_ Dean – the Kansas boy that moved out to New York last year, and started this unnameable _thing_ with her. A thing that could never decide whether it was a relationship or not, before Anna called the whole thing off out of nowhere. She’s good at doing that, Cas thinks.

 _Everyone_ at St John’s Prep knows who Dean Winchester is, because they all wanted a piece of him. They all knew Anna had him whipped; apparently Dean’s defining feature had been _womanizer_. Cas doesn’t know how true that is though, because things have a way of distorting as they make the high school circuit. Cas has had to listen to Anna talk about Dean for _months_ , and somehow the same guy has been dropped in his lap. He has spent many a lunchtime wanting to drool over the thought of Dean; and knowing that the boy in front of him is the source of the best mixtapes in the world makes Cas want to kiss him even harder. 

He can’t answer Dean – words obviously aren’t his forte tonight – but continues to stare at him with an alarmed curiosity. Cas knows why Dean would go for someone like Anna; she’s all unusual beauty, unwavering confidence, and heaps of intelligence. What is he compared to that? He’s not exactly known for putting people at ease when he talks to them. 

Cas is overwhelmed by the fact that this is a person he feels like he already knows; he’s seen pages and pages of songs Dean has written about Anna and it’s the only time he’s felt such fierce jealousy. Dean always made a point of telling Anna that he didn’t do relationships – so she must have been special to him. And it’s the most ridiculous thing ever, because Anna doesn’t like to be tied down for long either. So Cas really doesn’t understand why they would string each other along for half a year. Although that’s not strictly true – he does understand. Dean is almost like another species; he can be gruff and harsh and is always straight to the point, but he was always lavishing Anna with affection and she would teasingly whine about him being mushy when they were alone. 

Cas doesn’t have time for this – he doesn’t have time for _Dean_. He might not be with Anna anymore, but he’s still under her spell and that means Cas doesn’t stand a chance. He can’t compete with perfect Anna; the girl who can kick a guy’s ass but is still made up of gentle curves and soft pale skin. He can’t be anyone’s muse – nobody is going to write songs about his scruffy mop of hair and the bags under his eyes. So he does what he’s good at, what he knows he _can_ do, and gets up on the barstool to search for Balthazar.

The stool is sticky with weeks worth of spilled beer and cocktails, as well as a fresh slick of something else. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady himself so as not to slip over, and maybe he just wants an excuse to touch Dean again too. So what if he does? It’s perfectly harmless, a platonic gesture, although he is tempted to move his hand upwards through the short back of Dean’s hair to make it a little less platonic. Before he can even finish the thought, he sees Balthazar up on the side of the stage, wrapped around Meg. Next to them, Ruby Does Ruby have taken to the stage and all hell has broken loose. Brunette Ruby is on drums but sing-shouts into her mic to back up Blonde Ruby, who is standing in front of her as she punches out guitar riffs and makes up lyrics on the spot: _Pam, read my mind, Pam Pam Pam, I wanna take you out back._ Cas raises an eyebrow when Blonde Ruby bends over the edge of the stage and sings to someone at the front of the crowd, a greedy look in her eyes as she draws them in with her raw voice and a few improvised, obscene moans from Brunette Ruby behind her. 

Castiel steps down from the stool and is about to rush off to retrieve Balthazar, when Dean clasps a hand around his forearm and reels him back. 

“Seriously – how the fuck do you know Anna?” Dean looks at Castiel with a sort of pained disappointment, and Cas knows that’s the kind of look that he’s been sporting for a while now, it’s practiced and tired. But he looks needy too, as if he’ll drink himself into a stupor and do something regrettable if Cas wrenches his arm away and leaves him there. Dean’s fingernails start to dig into his skin, and although Cas feels a faint burn where his fingers are pressing, he let’s Dean keep the death-grip on his arm. He’s reminded of something Anna had passed around in Latin class once – a song that Dean had written and given to her – and she of course found it both adorable and hilarious.

> _The angel on my back_
> 
> _The devil of my heart_
> 
> _You have picked me apart_
> 
> _And see through every crack_

And _fuck_ , Cas doesn’t even have the capacity to be angry. He feels cheated out of something he never really had – because Dean will be ruined forever. Even if he isn’t, he won’t want to date anyone else from St John’s. Cas can’t even blame him, that’s one of the worst parts, because he knows all too well how Anna enchants people. 

She’s good at seeing through everyone’s pretences. She’ll unravel whatever mess of protection you’ve constructed around yourself and she can see the calamity that is _you_. And she makes you feel good about it, and then you start to think that Anna is the reason you feel good, and when she leaves you lose faith in yourself and it’s back to square one again.

Cas doesn’t know what kind of issues Dean might have had, but he can bet that before Anna, Dean had probably never let anybody psychoanalyse him like that. There’s a parallel to be found between him and Dean; they found something they needed in Anna and got left behind. Maybe it’ll turn Dean into a real rock star: he’ll screw people in dressing rooms and in the back of vans, but he’ll never let somebody make him feel like he’s worth something again. 

Cas wants to shove Anna, yank her hair and push her over like he did in third grade. Everybody said it was because he had a crush on her, when actually he just _really_ wanted to get his own way for once. She’d told him that he shouldn’t be friends with Balthazar, and Cas was as livid as a third-grader could be. At least before the crippling guilt settled in at seeing Anna’s eyes tear up behind her scowl. 

And here they are all over again – except instead of fighting over friends, they’re fighting over boys. And instead of Anna wanting Cas to herself, Cas wants what Anna has already _had_ to herself. Cas would fight people off and quite possibly kill to get the chance to have someone like Dean – someone devoted and loyal and affectionate, and yes, an asshole sometimes – but an asshole who _eventually_ apologises and admits they’re both wrong. 

Cas looks up at Dean – _damaged goods_ – but he still thinks that he’d give up everything to have him. One kiss isn’t enough; one too-short kiss is only making Cas pine and mope over what he can’t have. It’s like test-driving a Ferrari when you know you can only get a fucking Prius. 

Cas would abandon his gap year abroad to stay here with Dean; he would follow their stupid band around New York and be equipment-bitch with little complaint, if it meant Dean would give him more looks like this. He just wants to grab Dean and pull him into a corner away from everyone, and take his time exploring his mouth and letting his hands slip under his clothes. 

And well, that’s certainly a new feeling because Cas has spent years of high school being called frigid by Balthazar. Only Cas has never thought of himself as frigid per se, so he always says something back like: _You mean I’m not easy? Or do you mean I have standards?_ And Anna will always cut in with a variant of: _No, douchebag, you act like a haughty asshole and don’t give anyone a chance. Maybe if you hopped off your cloud you’d find a nice guy, instead of intimidating them until they run away._

Cas wonders if Anna is right and if Dean can sense it too, because it’s not as if he’s angled for another kiss or even a casual grope. So Cas extracts his arm from Dean’s grip and claps his hand down on his shoulder, squeezing a little before saying, “You poor soul.”

 

 

**_ Dean _ **

Anna is there and then she’s passing straight by, and Dean wishes he wasn’t staring as she walks away, but she’s wearing the tight jeans he always loved and what he’s sure is one of his old t-shirts. It stings, but Dean thinks a tiny piece of the gap Anna left inside him has been filled by what just happened. She didn’t come all this way to see him or to sabotage his show. No, she only came here because she’s on a fucking _date_.

But Anna is gone and Dean is left with this guy, the same guy that wears a sweater to a club and still manages to look cool, _Cas_. He’s a good kisser – fuck is he good – but he seems a little derailed. Dean’s question of how he knows Anna goes unanswered, even unacknowledged, but he needs to know what the connection between the two of them is, how he ended up trapped in this fucking tangled web of confusion. 

The look Cas gives him makes Dean’s chest tighten, and he feels like he’s being pitied but Cas’ eyes are tired and he looks so done with everything. When he jumps down from the barstool he’s about to make a run for it, so Dean takes hold of his arm and pulls him back, and even though Cas looks weaker than himself, Dean knows that he’s packing a whole load of strength under that sweater when Cas grips his shoulder again.  

He’s not trying to get away, not really. Maybe he wants to, but he’s letting Dean hold him in place. And the way Cas’ palm is splayed out against Dean’s arm reminds him of his kiss, the firm press of his lips and the prickle from where his fingernails dug bluntly into the back of his neck. 

“You poor soul.” He says, and he looks disappointed and patronizing at the same time. Dean can see that he knows something and he’s holding it back, he’s reigning it in and the frown on his face shows how conflicted he feels about it. 

“Why?” Dean asks, but he skirts the question all together. 

“I need to get my friend.” 

“I’ll come with you.” Dean offers, because he knows Anna might still be watching him and he doesn’t want to get left behind. There’s nothing else he’d rather do right now than tag along with a damn good kisser, and he’s wondering what the odds of getting a repeat are. 

“If you give me and my friend a ride home, I’ll add a few more minutes to your original request.” Cas is all business about it, and the sure tone of his voice excites Dean just a little, so he nods.

“Really though – how do you know Anna?” Dean asks, because it’s still picking at the back of his mind and he can’t bear not knowing how these two people can possibly exist in the same world. Dean can see how they’re similar with the certainty and calmness that they hold themselves with, but he already knows that there are endless differences. After he’d seen Cas whistling, the guy had knocked back three shots, one after the other, as if they were water. Anna would drink beer, but she didn’t like the hard stuff. Cas is scruffy and dishevelled, and it would be a fucking lie if Dean said he didn’t want to push his fingers through Cas’ hair and tug on it, while Anna is immaculate without even trying. 

Cas looks at him and bites down on his lip; he’s going to let something slip. “I pushed her in the dirt in third grade,” he says, and Dean feels just as confused as he was before. “Now I think it’s the other way around.” 

“You go to _St John’s_?” 

“Yes.” 

 Dean doesn’t even have time to close his gaping mouth before Cas is trying to get away again, and he almost disappears into the crowd before Dean can follow. Cas is looking around frantically and goes tense, visibly frustrated. 

“Where did he go?” He mutters to himself.

“Who?” 

“It’s not important.” He fires back, but then he glances at Dean for a moment and lets his shoulders slump. “Balthazar. Just – shut up, okay?” 

He’s a little irritated at Cas’ sharpness, but Dean goes silent and looks back to where they’d come from. Anna is behind them with her new guy and he has his tongue down her throat, hands tangled in her red hair. Before Dean can stop himself he’s imagining her naked, remembering all the times he’s peeled those jeans all the way from her hips, over her thighs, and down her calves.

He turns away and tries to shake the thought, and at some point Cas has moved because he isn’t there anymore. Pamela has joined Ruby on stage and become her personal dancer, and Jo is absolutely nowhere to be seen. To his right, he sees Cas reaching out to grab a guy that he knows he’s seen at every club he’s been to, usually half-conscious and trying to bone someone. 

The blonde guy – Balthazar, he assumes – is clinging onto the girl from Meg And The Dregs and mouthing off at Cas. Meg has her arms wrapped around Balthazar’s neck and looks as though she’s trying to crawl inside of him, judging by how much they’re scrabbling at each other and exchanging words in one another’s ears. 

Cas is shouting Balthazar’s name repeatedly while he ignores him and continues to grope at Meg. Cas’ authoritative and clipped tone almost makes Dean think they’re brothers, because it’s the same voice he uses when he’s telling Sam to back down. Jesus, he could really use Sam’s advice right now. 

Cas reaches out for Balthazar again and Dean thinks a fight is about to erupt any second, but Ruby Does Ruby are still playing and they launch into a cover of Highway To Hell and nobody gives a shit about anything anymore. Dean’s blood is finally pumping again and it feels like he’s taken a dozen syringes of adrenaline straight to the heart. 

The entire room is jumping and pushing and screaming and shouting every word, and Dean feels like he’s a part of something bigger and better than himself, because everyone here is connected by a mutual love for this one song. He can hear Pamela’s voice coming through as well, and it’s become a duet between her and Ruby, while Balthazar keeps Meg pressed against him as they dance. 

Dean loses himself in it all for a minute, but he can’t ignore the presence of Cas next to him. He’s the only person in the room who is half-assing it, and he looks completely exhausted. Exhausted in his mind, not his body. And Dean wants to go crazy and forget about Anna and her new hook-up and enjoy this blissful moment, but it’s as if he’s tied to his fake boyfriend with a length of rope and Cas is keeping him on the ground.

“What is it?” Dean shouts over the noise, and just briefly, Cas’ face is like an open book. There’s none of the composure he had before, just the wide eyes of someone who feels like they’re falling when they’re standing completely still. Dean can practically feel Cas about to burst; he’s harbouring a lot of repressed thoughts and feelings and he has nowhere left to hide them, and Dean knows how that feels. It’s a heavy weight that you can’t take a rest from.

Dean changes his approach and tries again. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?” And Cas crumples before pulling himself back up again, his expression becoming a mask of nothingness.  Dean can’t work out why, but he wants to know. He wants to know what Cas is hiding and what is eating him up inside - does _Cas_ even know? 

“Absolutely nothing,” he replies, his tone a little harsh. “I think our time is up.”

“I thought you needed a ride,” Dean says, because he is shameless and doesn’t care if he has to use his vehicle as leverage just to stay in Cas’ presence for a little longer. He’s intrigued now, and won’t give up so easily.

He watches frustration flash over Cas as he becomes conflicted, and he’s looking between Dean and Balthazar and trying to work out what he should do. “Fine, okay, just stay here.” 

Dean watches Cas go back over to Balthazar, and he’s tugging at his arm as Meg keeps an iron-grip on his midriff. There’s a rage in Cas’ eyes that has Dean clenching and uncurling his fists, because _fuck_ is it hot. Balthazar stumbles on his feet and Meg can’t keep a hold of him, but Castiel is still wrenching him away and it propels him straight into Dean.

Balthazar smells like a stagnant cocktail of every alcohol under the sun, and his pupils are suspiciously large and round. He stares up at Dean as if he’s about to put the moves on him, but then he’s bowing his head to dry-retch, and Dean takes holds of his shoulders and cautiously steps back.

The vomit never comes though: Balthazar just burps and swallows it down. Except _Dean_ is the one who wants to throw up now. Cas is back and he looks at him before nodding towards the exit, and then he’s pushing through the crowd and people are legitimately parting for him. Dean thinks Cas may be some kind of god until he catches sight of the intimidating look on his face, in tandem with the rumble of his voice shouting, “Out of my way, now!” 

Dean has Balthazar’s arm slung around his shoulder and he’s propping him up as they follow the path that Cas leaves in his wake, but apparently his life is all just some horrible nightmare tonight because when they reach the bottom of the stairs, Anna is standing there.

“I need a ride.” She says; there’s no preamble or stupid icebreakers, because Anna has never really wasted time on that. “I have to get somewhere.” She’s staring at Dean with her lips curving into a smile, and it makes the words die in his throat at once. 

Dean blindly reaches his hand into his pocket, because if she wants a ride then they’ll be sitting in a confined space together, and maybe they can work some things out. He doesn’t really want to be with her again – not like they used to – but he sure as hell needs a little closure. _Break-up sex will do the job_ , he thinks. Because at least he’ll feel his worth: a throw away fuck.

It’s Cas’ voice that interrupts the haze he’s moved into, “Car’s full, Anna, there’s no room.” And there’s that tone again, firm and demanding, but it’s not the same one he used with Balthazar. There is no exasperated affection lurking under the surface of these words, just anger beginning to bubble.

“Stay out of it, Cas.” Anna’s voice hasn’t raised a decibel, but it’s abrupt and she looks like she’s at the end of her tether. And Dean assumes that she’d expected Cas to back down, because when he next opens his mouth, Anna’s cheeks flush and she takes a step towards him.

“No. You need to leave, understand?” 

She’s peering up at Cas now with a dark expression, but Cas stands his ground and glares back at her. 

“Look, you know I don’t want to argue with you. But this is between me and Dean – so why don’t you go look after drunkzilla here?” 

Dean is stuck on the fact that they’re fighting over him – that Anna is fighting _for_ him. Cas is only sticking around because he needs to get his friend home, but Anna wants time with Dean. The distraction means it takes him a few seconds to realise that Cas has frozen in place, and where he expects to see a smug expression on Anna’s face, he only finds a twisted frown. 

“Come on, Dean, please. We’re late and we need to go – I’ll give you the money for gas and bring the car back.” 

That’s all it takes for Dean to yank his hand out of his pocket. She doesn’t want him. He’s not a part of her ‘we’, he never was. He wants to kick himself for being so fucking idiotic and jumping to conclusions. Now he can fully appreciate that he thoroughly romanticised what he and Anna had, because even when they were a couple they were still never a ‘we’. 

It doesn’t keep him from snapping back at her though. He can’t help it, and the words fly out of him automatically.

“Right, ‘ _we’_ , who exactly is that – is _he_ a part of your ‘we’?” And he doesn’t care that he sounds neurotic and malicious; he just doesn’t want to feel like anyone’s pet to play with. He hates himself for letting it get this far; had he not moved to New York and been completely out of place and out of his depth, this would never have happened. 

It’s a stupid thought – he knows that. He doesn’t hate Anna at all; he still likes her very much actually. Maybe that’s part of the problem; he wants things to be easy between them and he wants to be friends, but it’s not and they’re not. It’s not like he’s blameless anyway; he’s the one acting like a complete asshole. 

Dean’s jaw is tightly clenched, and he realises that the only person he wants to scream at is himself. And as if he can read his mind, Cas slips his hand into Dean’s and threads their fingers together. He knows it’s for show – that he’s just trying to edge Anna out, but it’s comforting all the same and Dean doesn’t feel like he’s seeing red anymore.

Anna looks down at their clasped hands, and she must notice how tightly Cas’ fingers are pressing into his skin, as if Cas is afraid he might go ahead and leave him standing there. She _must_ have noticed, because she takes a step back and looked rattled. Dean is sure he imagines the flash of guilt on her face. 

“It’s fine. I, uh, I just wanted the car.” Dean would roll his eyes, but she’s already going back into the club without so much as a backwards glance. 

Dean looks down at the hand that is still joined to Cas’. He’s never held another guy’s hand before, but he likes the firm press of lightly calloused skin, and it feels worlds away from the gentle and soft grip that girls usually have. Cas sees him staring and he instinctively pulls his hand away, clearing his throat as he flexes his fingers. 

“We should go.” 

Dean nods and passes over Balthazar, who has been surprisingly silent throughout this whole ordeal, bar the occasional hiccup or gurgle. He’s grumbling about going back to find Meg as Cas leads him up the stairs, and Dean wants to know where he gets the strength to carry a fully grown person who is so incapacitated.

Dean walks in front of them and pushes his hands in the pockets of his jacket, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that’s been coursing through his palm and fingers ever since Cas let go. He’d managed to park the Impala just down the street, so it isn’t too far to walk, and maybe if he was a better guy he’d offer to help support Balthazar, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

People are lined up on the curb as they light their cigarettes, and he inhales the smoke they breathe out as he passes by them, thinking about the disaster that is his life. Today was supposed to be easy – get through school, play a good set, make some money, drink a little too much, and maybe a quick screw in the bathroom. So _how the fuck_ is it that he’s ended up seeing his ex-whatever and is taking home two strange? 

“What is _that_?” Cas asks abruptly as Dean comes to a stop at the car. He stares back at Cas and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to snap at him defensively.

“It’s an Impala.”


	2. The Punch & The Cabaret

**_ Cas _ **

Cas shoves Balthazar in the backseat unceremoniously and wonders how he could be so misguided.  An _Impala_ – he should have specified a _van_ to get home in – no matter how nice this interior may be. Dean glances over his shoulder nervously to check if Balthazar is dribbling on his leather seats, but he’s safe for now. They just sit there for a moment, not saying a word, the keys sitting idle in Dean’s palm as they both breathe for a few seconds. Things have been awfully hectic. 

Cas tries to appreciate the air inside the car; it’s so damn glorious compared the humid stuffiness of the club, but he can all too clearly pick out the sweet floral scent of Anna’s perfume. It feels so wrong to be in this brooding classic car that should reek of a perfect mixture of gasoline, fresh leather, and maybe sex; when instead it smells like a ladies’ dressing room. Cas inhales deeply once more, and wrinkles his nose. 

“It smells like L’eau de Milton in here.” He says, cracking his window open fractionally. 

Dean looks like he’s just been shaken out of another world entirely, and looks lost for a moment. “You mean Anna?” He laughs a little and runs a hand across the dashboard. “Tell me about it, I’ve been trying to air the thing out for days.” 

Finally, Dean turns the key in the ignition, and they’re greeted by the promising sound of nothing. Dean frowns and gives it another go, but there’s still a foreboding silence and his eyes are wide with panic on the third try. Cas sinks down into his seat, because _of course_ ; this is just how the world works. 

“Well, you don’t see many of these on the road,” Cas says, because he feels like he should break the silence, even though he’d much rather sit here in a comfortable quiet. “’67 Impala, mint condition too,” he sighs and amends that statement, “mostly.” 

Dean just glares back at him and gives the key one more turn, before slumping over the steering wheel with his face pressed against it. “This never happens,” he says, and Cas believes him, but it doesn’t comfort him either. “I haven’t had time to give her a full once-over in a while, what with--” he stops himself, but they both know what he was about to say. 

Balthazar is snoring lightly behind them, and Cas is ready to go flag down a taxi so he can just get home already, but he can’t see any on this street and doesn’t want to go hunting for one when Balthazar is a slobbering mess. Cas realises he doesn’t mind sitting here in a nice car with Dean, even if it won’t start, because maybe both the car and Dean have potential. 

“You need a drummer,” Cas says out of the blue, because it’s true. Dean may be a great bassist, but it’s not a rock band if there are no drums. Dean lifts his head from the wheel to look at Cas with a contorted expression. 

“Thanks…” 

“I didn’t mean – I’m not saying your band isn’t good. But you need a drummer.” Dean just nods, like he’s painfully aware of this fact and just pretends it’s not something he has to think about. “I saw you losing your shit to Highway To Hell earlier – what would that be without drums? I bet you love all that stuff – what about Eye Of The Tiger, huh, or Renegade?” 

And _shit_ , he’s said too much because how could he possibly know that? Now is not the time for Dean to realise that Cas has been swiping his mixes and worshipping them, that he sort of already knew him before he _knew_ him. Cas doesn’t feel particularly embarrassed about the fact that he is musically in love with this guy, but he doesn’t want to murder any chance he has with him either.

Dean doesn’t even pick up on it though; he just turns to Cas with a growing smile and a twinkle in his eye. _Like fucking Casanova._

He might be Anna’s sloppy seconds, but right now Cas doesn’t care one bit. He wants to take Dean and put him back together, he wants fix everything that is broken, make him better than Anna ever let him think he was. He wants to card his fingers through his hair and spend Sunday mornings counting his freckles. He wants to be his boyfriend for longer than seven minutes. Cas knows that’s not possible though, he can’t have Dean as his own, not for as long as he would like anyway. He’s heard enough about him to be sure that Anna is the only girl he’s ever dated for longer than a month, and look where that got him. He’s _ruined_. But even with this ever-present fact, Cas still wants to mould him back to the way he thinks Dean was before Anna. He won’t be selfish either, he’ll send Dean back out into the world as his personal gift to mankind – for _everybody_ to enjoy. 

Cas want so badly to lean over and kiss Dean again, but he’s worried that if he does, he won’t ever want to stop. So he doesn’t. And Dean doesn’t either. Instead, he says something that makes Cas’ stomach drop. 

“Why would you push Anna over in third grade?” And Cas wants to slam his head on the dashboard because they’re stumbling around in circles, and everything comes back to Anna. “Because I’m pretty sure that pushing a girl in dirt is like, the third grade equivalent of kicking someone in the nuts,” he grins, and Cas can hear how he’s teasing him now, and it’s like relief washing over him. Cas can’t bury his yearning for Dean any longer; it’s amplified by his million-watt smile, all straight white teeth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes as he laughs. 

Cas decides it is probably a misconception that he is frigid, because right now all he wants to do is undress Dean and do anything and everything he wants. On the other hand, he knows that while Dean is laying on the sarcastic charm, he’s also prodding Cas for information. He won’t do that though; Cas won’t sit in a car that smells of Anna and talk about her too. He tries to remember that she’s his oldest friend, but it doesn’t soothe the sting of knowing she had Dean.  So he revisits the idea of re-building Dean instead. He can upgrade from seven-minute boyfriend to seven-day boyfriend; they can drive around aimlessly, leave the state entirely and go somewhere new, they’ll stay in crappy motels and eat roadside diner food and Dean won’t believe that all relationships are poison. Even if they only last seven days. 

“Thank _God_.” Dean sighs, perking up as a dirty van comes rumbling down the street and parks in front of them. Then the guitarist of Dean’s band is jumping out and approaching them with jumper cables hanging around her neck. It’s almost fate, Cas thinks; either that or Dean’s friends are just very in sync with his life. Dean rolls his window down and the blonde girl is smiling and poking her head inside. 

“We were about to go get food and we saw you struggling. Come on, pop the hood.” Cas is impressed, mainly because he’s never met a girl who can jump-start a car and still look like a sweetheart – actually; he’s never met anyone who can jump-start a car without employing somebody else do it. 

“Thanks, Jo.” Dean doesn’t look happy about it, and Cas finds the childish frown on his face more endearing than he should. Jo leans further through the window and looks at Cas with a little too much excitement.

“Sam needs some help in the van – hop to it.” 

Cas can’t explain what makes him do it, but he’s stepping out onto the sidewalk and leaving Balthazar in the hands of a couple of teenage misfits. He walks around to the side of the van and slides the door open, seeing only a boy sitting atop a mattress, and he looks significantly younger than everyone else. He gets in anyway. 

“I’m Sam,” he says with a smile, and Cas swears that he can’t be a day over fifteen. “Dean’s brother.” 

“Castiel,” he’s not sure why, but he feels like this is an important event, like meeting the family for the first time, and he wants to make a good impression. “But, uh, people call me Cas.” He’s not sure whether he should offer his hand for Sam to shake, but he’s only a kid so it probably doesn’t matter. 

Sam grabs Cas’ hand and places a crumpled wad of bills in it. Cas just stares up at him, hand still extended and a dumbstruck look on his face. 

“What is this?” 

“Me and Jo both contributed,” he says, as if that’s any kind of explanation. “She told me you kissed Dean.” 

“I don’t understand--” 

“Look, the long and short of it is that Jo and I, we’re not exactly fans of the disaster we call his ‘past relationship’. Anna was nice and all, but it was messy. We’d just like for him get over it and move on – he’s brooding, it’s awful.” Sam watches him expectantly, eyes searching for Cas’ answer.

“You don’t even know me.”

“But I know Jo and I know my brother, and if they think you’re good enough to waste gas on then you’re good enough for me. So please, take the guy out, have a few drinks, see a band, see the city, see the backseat of the Impala – I don’t care.” Sam is looking at Cas with glossy puppy-dog eyes, and there’s no way he can even think about saying no to that face. He feels like he’d have to pay Sam _not_ to take Dean out. 

“I can’t – he’s still hung up on Anna,” Cas groans, because he’s been trying to ignore it but it’s a persistent detail that won’t go away. “I don’t want to be his rebound,” he adds quietly. Sam’s expression softens even more, and he leans in closer.

“Dean can be a confusing guy – he’s sulking over himself more than he is Anna. He has a problem with blaming himself for everything.” He huffs out a sound of frustration, and Cas can see just how much Sam wants his brother to be happy. “He’s worth the trouble though, I promise.”

“What about my friend? He’s an unconscious wreck and Dean’s supposed to give us a ride.” Sam narrows his eyes at Cas because he knows what game he’s playing, and he’s not going to let him win. He pats the mattress and grins smugly. 

“We’ll take him – as long as you go with Dean.” 

It’s not exactly hard to choose between nursing Balthazar with his monster breath and soon-to-come puking, or sitting next to Dean with hopes of some more kissing. Maybe more. Whatever. 

“Okay.” He stuffs the money into the pocket of his jeans and Sam copies down directions to his house on a scrap of paper. Cas feels full to the brim with anticipation, and he’s still thinking about all the ways in which he wants to devour Dean and touch him, but he also wants to hear him crack bad jokes and feel the shake of his laughter and the brightness of his smile.

He’s not frigid, but he’s sure as hell never felt like this before. 

Cas feels good about doing this, he’s nervous, but hope burns through him like an electric current. He thinks that the erratic beating of his heart is worth it, just to see Sam beaming so happily. It makes him feel nostalgic for something he’s never had: brothers. Sure, he’s got a vast amount of extended family, with enough cousins and uncles and aunts to form an army, but he’s not exactly close with any of them. He’s always seen his friends as his siblings; Balthazar, Anna, the two younger boys from school that dote on him – Inias and Samandriel – and even Gabriel sometimes. Okay, maybe not Gabriel. Gabriel is more like the uncle that drinks too much at family events and ends up offending everyone with morally dubious pranks and any inappropriate thing you can think of. So he smiles at Sam as he leaves, and warns him to keep away from groupies in the future, because he thinks Sam is something special and hard to come by. 

Dean doesn’t even notice when Cas and Sam come back to haul Balthazar out of the backseat – he’s too busy with Jo trying to spark some life back into the car. Cas manages to throw Balthazar over his shoulder, and he follows Sam back to the van to lower him onto the mattress, Balthazar still snoring lightly the entire time. Then it’s back over to the Impala again, and for a pleasant five minutes he has such high expectations for the rest the night, but they’re all crushed when he sees Crowley leaning on a lamppost a few feet away. It can’t be happening though; he’s still supposed to be on his gap year – a round-the-world trip funded by some suspicious dealings he’s been doing for a few years. Castiel wants to vanish into thin air, because Crowley is definitely looking at him as he stubs out a cigarette and straightens up.

 

 

**_ Dean _ **

Dean really doesn’t want to know what Sam and Cas could be talking about in private, so he doesn’t bother asking. He just watches Cas leave before he pops the hood of the car and gets to work. Jo is being unusually quiet, which means nothing good, and he suspects she’s waiting for the perfect moment to accost him. He vaguely notices Sam and Cas coming over to haul Balthazar out of the car before they disappear again, which is when Jo decides to pipe up.

“We’re taking the train-wreck home, you stick with Cas.” It’s totally matter-of-fact, and Dean knows that there is no space for negotiation here.

“Why?” 

“Because you can’t be trusted to make your own decisions – so we’re doing what’s best for you. Okay, sweetie?” She cups his cheek and smiles, before giving him a light slap. They’re always like this, bickering like a married couple and taunting each other with pet names and empty threats – anyone would think they really _are_ dating. 

Dean slams the hood back down and sees that Cas has reappeared in the passenger seat of the Impala. He’s already strapped in and doesn’t see Dean watching, his head bowed down as he picks at the hem of his sweater with the hint of a smile of his lips. 

“Fine,” Dean says, and Jo claps him on the back for not going against her. But he’s not doing it because Jo asked him to, it’s because he thinks tonight might have promise. He feels like this could be so much more than a ride home, especially since Balthazar has been taken care of. He doesn’t know Cas, but Dean thinks he wants to. Everything is muddled up though, because here is Cas, a fucking good kisser who knows what model Dean’s car is, but he’s got one foot in Dean’s past and one in his (maybe) future. Dean can’t just pretend that there isn’t some weird, unresolved tension between Cas and Anna, and he has a feeling that it’s not really about him either. But right now Dean wants to drive around the city with Cas sitting shotgun, and somehow get both of the guy’s feet in his future. 

Dean gets back in the car and is about to ask where they should go, when he sees the change in Cas. His back is ramrod-straight as he stares out of the windshield at seemingly nothing, but his eyes keep flickering back and forth to some guy walking over. Dean assumes it’s just someone Cas knows and doesn’t feel like talking to, but it’s obviously more than that because Cas’ mouth is set in a hard line and his fingers are clinging to the edge of his seat. 

The same guy from down the street stops next to the car and bends down to peer at Cas through the window that’s still rolled down halfway. 

“Hello babe,” he purrs, and Dean wonders if Cas’ entire circle of friends is made up of sleazy guys with English accents. Dean is trying very hard to hold back a scoff, because the guy is wearing a tailored suit just outside what may be the dirtiest venue in New York. Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s just lingering on the sidewalk instead of actually venturing into Chuck’s. 

Cas doesn’t reply, instead he stares at the glove compartment and sits frozen in place. Dean has no idea what’s happening because from what he’s seen so far, Cas isn’t the kind of guy to let some fancy douchebag call him _babe_. This is the same person who commanded people out of his way with nothing but firm words, who managed to make even Anna back down – and Dean can’t understand how he tolerates a nickname like that from the smug asshole leaning into his car. He expects Cas to scowl at him and tell him exactly where to go, but all Cas does is frown and go pale. 

“Look, I’m back, so why are you still sitting in this piss-poor excuse for a car? Aren’t you going to come out and say hello? I mean it’s been a while, Castiel.” 

And that’s fucking _it_ – nobody speaks about the Impala like it’s a piece of trash and gets to screw Dean over as well. “Do you want something, or are you just gonna stand there and be a dick?” He sneers, narrowing his eyes at the guy. He just pulls himself up straighter and raises his eyebrows at Dean, before swinging the passenger door open.

“It’s not really any of your business, but I just got back to the States and I’ve been searching far and wide for Castiel here,” he says with a cracked smile and a venomous coating to his words. “So if you don’t mind, we’ll be off now.” 

Cas has unbuckled his seatbelt and glances quickly at the guy, and Dean thinks he’s about to do it, he’ll get out and walk away and Dean will be left confused about what’s even real anymore. But he doesn’t move, he’s the same solid statue that he’s been this entire time, although his expression has drooped to something much more dejected than angry. 

“Come on, babe, I’ve missed you.” 

Dean knows something has just snapped in Cas because he whips around to face this _persistent bastard_ and his jaw is as tightly clenched as his fists are now. 

“Do you ever get tired of lying to every single fucking person you meet?” Cas spits, his eyes darkening. “Because you haven’t missed me at all, and I don’t fall for the same bullshit that your ‘clients’ do. The only person you give a damn about is yourself – and I’m sure you may have missed pushing me to the edge and fucking with my head, making me think you’re the only one I can rely on – but you’ve never wasted a goddamn minute missing _me_ in your entire existence. So kindly fuck off, Crowley.” 

The guy – Crowley – is taken aback by the sharp harshness of Cas’ tone, and clearly never expected him to be so blunt. Crowley backs up from Cas and stands on the curb again, giving himself a few extra inches of height to try and assert some power. Cas, however, is in his element and is still silently fuming away. Dean doesn’t want to admit it, but Cas’ little speech has him feeling dizzy and too hot, and he’s _definitely_ pretending that twitch of his cock didn’t just happen. But Dean finds that Cas in a rage is something he’s really on board with, and he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to pin him down when he’s fired up like this, how he would bite and scratch until Cas is needy and begging, then fuck him into a cloudy bliss. 

Dean has to awkwardly adjust his position because he’s half-hard just _thinking_ about it. 

Dean doesn’t have time to fret over it though because Crowley is suddenly invading Cas’ space again and is sneering only inches away from his face, saying, “You really think anybody else is going to think you’re worth something? Stop acting like a prat and get out.” It’s barely noticeable, but Cas flinches a little and looks away. 

Before Dean realises what he’s doing, he’s scooting across the seat until he’s pressed against Cas and can glare right back at Crowley. “How about you back the fuck up and get out of my sight, because I’m sure as hell not letting you talk to him like that, asshole.” Dean is sure that his nostrils are flaring and his pulse is rising, and if Cas weren’t blocking his way then he’d probably be punching Crowley into next week. It does the trick though, and Crowley is already a few feet away and about to leave, when he turns around. 

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with him than me – I wouldn’t count on it though. He talks a good game, very good at leading you on until you get there and realise he’s completely empty.” Crowley laughs bitterly, shaking his head, and Cas tenses up next to Dean. 

“Go away, Crowley,” Cas says quietly, and he’s sunken in on himself and bites on his lip. 

“Not quite yet, babe.” He catches Dean’s eye again, looking thoroughly amused. “He’s a robot – doesn’t feel a thing for anybody. You can try, but like I said, you won’t find anything but a deep, cold, _nothing_.” 

Dean grits his teeth and reaches for his keys again, praying to God that the car will just fucking start and give them an escape from Crowley. He holds his breath as he turns it in the ignition, and the roar of the engine coming to life is music to his ears. He gives the dashboard an affectionate pat and lets out a sigh of relief. 

“You can give it a rest dude – we’re _leaving_.” Dean is losing his wits, but thankfully Crowley takes the hint and pulls out a cigarette as he walks away from them and out of sight. Dean reaches across Cas to pull his door shut, before moving back behind the wheel to calm down a little. 

Jo, who has been shamelessly eavesdropping during the entire exchange, comes over to Dean’s window hesitantly. “Right, well, your friend is sleeping like a rock and we’ll get him back – we won’t like, sell him or anything.” 

Cas doesn’t laugh, and neither does Dean. He’s worried that everything has changed, and maybe he and Cas should just part ways already. 

“Have fun,” Jo adds, and then she leans in closer so that only Dean can hear, “and please don’t do anything stupid.” 

“Hey wait – drop Sammy off when you’re done, okay? It’s getting late and Dad would kill me if he thought I was pushing him off the rails.” Dean rolls his eyes, although he can’t say that he doesn’t agree with John. He definitely doesn’t want Sam staying out until the early hours in places like Chuck’s; mixing with musicians and groupies whose sweat probably constitutes of class-A drugs. 

Jo nods and goes back the van, and then they’re driving off and leaving Cas and Dean with no reason to stay together any longer. Dean isn’t sure what the protocol for this is, whether he should leave Cas to his own thoughts or give him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder or try to make it better. He’s never been great at that, not with other guys; with kids and girls it’s always easier. 

“You okay?” 

Cas doesn’t even look his way. 

“I’m fine,” Cas answers, but Dean isn’t at all convinced.

“So can I ask what the deal is – with Crowley?” Dean asks, getting straight to the point. There’s no use in tiptoeing around the question when it’s the goddamn elephant in the room. 

“My ex-something, _the_ ex, I suppose.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, but Crowley had said some pretty awful things back there and Castiel can’t be made of stone, they obviously got through and buried themselves in his head.

“Like me and Anna then.” Dean sighs, only to have Cas turn to narrow his eyes at him.

“Nothing like you and Anna,” he snaps, “this was real, it still is, I guess.” 

Dean’s hopes of disconnecting Cas from the Anna-era of his life are completely slashed, because they seem to be tied and knotted together at irregular intervals that Dean can’t even begin to anticipate. He knows that he’s been a grumpy, whiny, bitch about ending it with Anna, but he’s also trying hard to put it behind him. But it feels like every time he takes a step in the right direction, Cas is waiting there for him with his bright eyes and forgotten-about stubble, and he’s ready to shove him ten feet backwards.

“You don’t even know anything about it – you don’t know _me_ ,” Dean says, because that was uncalled for. Sure, what he and Anna had may not have been a healthy relationship, if you could call it a relationship at all, but it was definitely real. And that snide comment hurts because what he feels; it’s real. 

“And you know nothing about me, so what’s the point?” Cas isn’t angry anymore, he just sounds tired and drained by the whole ordeal, but Dean can’t decide which he finds more unsettling. 

He does think that this is a good time to actually start driving though, so he pulls out of his space and starts off down the road with no destination in mind. He doesn’t know what the point is either, why the two of them are hacking away relentlessly at each other’s hearts when they could just end it all and go about their sorry lives. Maybe both of them are sadistic and masochistic, taking some kind of sick pleasure in being made to believe they’re not worth a dime, taking more pleasure in knowing the other feels it too. 

“What’s your problem with Anna anyway?” Dean asks, because he can’t resist poking a bear with a stick. 

“It’s not that, I just--” Cas cuts himself short, then tips his head back against the seat, “What do you see in her?” Cas is back to being hostile, and Dean isn’t finding it quite so sexy this time. Actually, he wants to slam Cas’ head against the window. 

“Why do you think you’re entitled to any details about it, huh?” Dean’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to heed Jo’s advice and not do anything stupid. “She was there,” he starts, cursing himself for even feeling the need to justify his life. “She was there when I thought I didn’t have anyone else. I was a mess when I got here, and she made me feel good.” Dean starts to feel uncomfortable about how open he’s being, and compulsively counteracts it. “Not that you would know a damn thing about that.” 

“Oh so now I’m the bad guy?” Cas groans, gesticulating wildly with his hands so that Dean can’t concentrate on the road. “Just pull over, okay, I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do _what_?”

“You – any of this!” He says, and Cas is reaching to undo his seatbelt and sticks his head out of the window for a moment. “Just drop me off, I’ll get home by myself!” He shouts, and Dean doesn’t need to be told a third time so he swerves unceremoniously and comes to an abrupt stop, Cas almost smashing his head on the dashboard. Cas mutters under his breath and scampers out of the car and quickly as he can, trying to work out what street he’s on and far away from home he might be.

“What the hell is your problem?” Dean asks incredulously, because Cas is like a fucking yoyo and will never stay in his reach for long enough, and he thinks that Cas might be done with flitting back again.

“I don’t need to be anyone’s second best!” Cas yells, but the words lack conviction and Dean doesn’t think Cas believes a word of what’s coming out of his own mouth. It’s probably the same sentence he’s forced himself to say in the mirror, or recite when he’s laying awake in bed. “I can’t be her second best.”

Dean gets out of the car because he can’t stand the way he’s being blamed for something that is _clearly_ between Anna and Cas, when he hasn’t done a thing to warrant such resentment from either of them. He’s got frustration and defensiveness bubbling up inside him and he doesn’t even pause to think it through before he’s yelling right back at Cas. 

“You know it’s weird that Anna never talked about you – you can’t have been important or anything, right? But she did mention some guy who’s been following her around like a puppy since she was a kid, and that he’s an arrogant, uptight, _frigid_ asshole who is completely jealous of her!” 

Dean realises that he may have overstepped the mark, because Cas looks poised to kill and is crossing the street to get to him. Dean’s not sure where his outburst even came from because Anna didn’t even _say_ those things. He feels a little guilty about the frigid comment though, especially after what Crowley had said to him not much earlier. Not that the guilt has much time to fester though, because Cas is invading his space and glaring up at him. 

“I will beat you to a pulp if you don’t shut up,” Cas says through gritted teeth, and Dean can’t help but bark out a laugh because Cas is shorter than him and definitely not as sturdy.

“Yeah? I’d like to see you—” 

Dean doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying because Cas’ knuckles collide with his throat, making every molecule of air leave his mouth as he chokes and splutters. 

“I am _not_ jealous!” Cas shouts, and there’s a fire in his eyes that reminds Dean of the look he’d given Crowley, and Dean can truly appreciate that Cas is not someone to be toyed with.

Dean is still clutching at his neck and coughing as Cas leaves him in the middle of the road, Dean watching him round the corner without ever glancing back.

There are a few people muttering about what just happened, pointing at Dean and relaying the stories to their friends. He tries to block them out, focuses on the throbbing pain in his throat instead and ignores the guy that sarcastically reassures him that Cas definitely isn’t jealous. 

Dean’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he’s glad for the distraction, picking up without even checking the caller ID. He clears his throat once more, and brings the phone to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Dean, we have a problem.” It’s Sam on the other end, sounding frantic and nervous.

“What happened?” 

“We lost Castiel’s friend.” 

Dean’s mind goes blank for a second. “Who?” His voice comes out hoarse and he feels a rush of annoyance at Cas. 

“The unconscious drunk guy we took from you!” Sam almost screams at a ridiculously high pitch. 

“How could you lose him if he’s unconscious?” Dean sighs, because this is yet another thing he really does not need. He leans back against his car and tries to drum up a plan. 

“We stopped for food and he must have woken up and left the van…” Sam sounds awfully sheepish and Dean knows that he feels guilty about it, but all he can think about is what Cas will do to him when he founds out. 

“You’re supposed to be the responsible one – that’s the only reason I let you come to these things!” Dean whines, because even though Sam thinks he’s being overprotective and siding with John, it’s only because Dean knows what too much exposure to this environment will do to a person. Sam isn’t hardened to it like Dean is, he’s still naive about how shitty people can be and he just wants to help everyone, and it’ll be too late when he realises they’re only using him. “Okay look, you and Jo are going find Balthazar and me and Cas will meet you.” 

“How’s your date going?” Sam sniggers, and Dean can hear Jo snorting with laughter in the background. 

“It’s not a date – and it’s none of your goddamn business!” Dean snaps reflexively, except it only makes things worse because Sam is now silently judging him. 

“Fine, you don’t need to be such a jerk about it.” 

“Shouldn’t you be looking for the _person_ you somehow lost, bitch?” 

Sam grumbles incoherently for a minute before hanging up, and Dean is left with the knowledge that he has to relay this information to the guy that just punched him in the jugular. 

_Awesome_. 

Dean finds Cas halfway down the street around the corner. He’s leaning out into the road and craning his neck to watch for the next cab, but it’s pretty clear that nothing is coming anytime soon. Dean cautiously approaches him, his throat still stinging with discomfort to remind him of Cas’ temperament, and taps him on the shoulder.

“They lost Balthazar.”

 

 

**_ Cas _ **

“ _What_?”

Cas is sure that he misheard Dean, or the phrasing was off and he’d meant something entirely different – because there is no way that Dean’s friends could _lose_ someone who is practically comatose.

He doesn’t want to believe it, but the twitchy look on Dean’s face suggests he’s being pretty serious. “They went to get food and he disappeared,” Dean mumbles gruffly, and he must be as disbelieving as Cas is because he actually shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Why do I never anticipate these things happening?” Cas sighs, and he steps back onto the sidewalk looking deflated. Only a minute ago he’d been thinking about the disaster that is this night, his only solace being the thought that _it can’t possibly get any worse_. Apparently he was mistaken though, and God is out to prove him wrong and toss him around for being so presumptuous.  

“We should meet up with Sam and Jo—” Dean starts, but Cas cuts him off curtly.

“Dean,” he warns, because he’s not sure how much longer he can handle what’s going on between them. The constant switch being up and down, feeling like he can reach out and touch something beautiful, only to have it taken away and feel like maybe he’s the bad person after all.

“You can’t find him on your own.” There’s no room for argument, Dean isn’t asking and he expects compliance with what’s he’s saying. Cas is surprised, to say the least, because Balthazar means absolutely nothing to Dean and he has no ties to him. He doesn’t have any obligation to track him down or feel responsible for his wellbeing – hell; he didn’t even have to tell Cas that they’d lost him. 

So Cas nods and follows Dean back to the car, few words exchanged between them. The atmosphere is different now, the hostility has melted away but it feels no less suffocating. They are calm and they are controlled, forced to think about everything that they have said and had said to them. There is no heated shouting match, where loud voices are the weapon of choice and overpower the quiet thrum of reason. There is only the sound of a purring engine and the muffled traffic outside of the car, their own thoughts bouncing around inside of their heads. 

Cas does feel bad about punching Dean, but he also thinks it’s a fair recompense for what Dean had said to him. He can still hear the words playing themselves over and over again in his mind, flashing behind his retinas like a neon sign. _You can’t have been important. Arrogant, uptight, frigid asshole._ He can’t make them go away, like a splinter lurking just beneath the skin; too small to pick out but hurts with every movement. He knows that he and Anna have been frosty this year, but they’re still friends, or are supposed to be, and it’s not something he can imagine leaving her mouth.

He tries to busy himself and reaches into the footwell for the box of cassette tapes. Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Cas digs around inside the box, pushing tapes aside and pulling two out at a time sometimes, comparing them side-by-side. All of the labels are familiar to Cas – bands he knows from hearing them on the mixes he scavenged from Anna. He lets himself relax a little after that, because even though Dean is the last person he wants to be around right now, it’s still the same guy who makes the mixes that Cas listens to as he’s falling asleep, when he’s in the shower, or when he’s curled up in the armchair reading.

He picks out a mix that’s full of older songs than the others, The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and pushes it into the player. Dean doesn’t say anything, but Cas sees the slight upturn of his mouth when music floods the car, and they both loosen up in their seats. Cas watches as Dean’s fingers tap on the steering wheel in time with the drumbeat, and smugness washes over him as he realises just how right he was in saying Dean can appreciate good drums.  Cas’ eyes flit to Dean’s mouth as he sings along to the song under his breath, and he knows he should look away, but he can’t help imagining how good it would feel to kiss those lips again.

Cas thinks of the way Dean’s fingers were curled around the fabric of his sweater, pulling him close against his body, hips and chests perfectly aligned. Cas licks his dry lips, remembering how smooth Dean’s were as they drew him in. 

That’s when Dean glances sideways at Cas and jolts him back into the real world. And just because Dean’s eyes are soft when he looks at him, does not mean Cas is allowed to be thinking about those things. They’re not his to want – they never have been – he just tried them out for a few minutes. And if he spends any more time dwelling on that kiss, or fantasizing about more of them, then he might as well dig himself a grave and jump straight into it. He’s here to find Balthazar, and then he’s gone. In time Dean will be nothing more than another blurry memory. 

The van from earlier is parked atrociously on the curb when they pull up, and when they get out Cas can hear music blaring from the inside, and Dean slides the side door open without hesitation. Sam and Jo are on the mattress on the floor, Sam pretending to wildly play drums while Jo leans back on her knees as she plays air-guitar.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters quietly, before climbing inside and holding the door aside for Cas to follow. “You’re supposed to be looking out for Balthazar!” 

“You told us to wait for you,” Sam says easily with a shrug of his shoulders, and Cas can’t even get mad when Sam is sitting there cross-legged with that innocent look on his face. 

“Okay, he can’t be further than a few blocks away from here, right? So we just drive around until we see him – or he sees us.” Dean suggests, but Cas instantly sees the flaw in this logic. He’s been dealing with Balthazar in this state for much, _much_ longer than any of them ever have, and he only wishes it were that simple. 

“Unless he gets on the subway,” Cas points out, earning a defeated groan from everyone else. “Dean’s right though – we should scope out this area first.” 

Jo hops out of the van and slips into the front instead, taking the wheel, and Sam goes out after her to sit shotgun. This leaves Dean and Cas alone in the back, sitting next to each awkwardly on the mattress. Dean is picking at a hole in his jeans and chewing the inside of his cheek, and as much as it makes Castiel uncomfortable, he decides they can’t do this without speaking to each other. 

He starts out small, going for casual small talk that can’t blow up in their faces. “How long have you known Jo?” 

Dean looks up with a lost expression, obviously not expecting Cas to be civil with him after the whole disaster back there. “Uh, just over a year I guess. My dad was friends with her mom when we were kids, but we never met until we started going to school together.” 

Cas nods, and peeks up at the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of Jo grinning at Sam with bright eyes, their faces illuminated in the red tint of the stoplight ahead of them. “Is she close with your brother?” 

Dean laughs softly, and follows Cas’ line of sight. “You could say that.” Cas turns around to look at Dean’s raised eyebrow and small smirk, and nothing is really making sense to him anymore – Dean is supposed to be the only guy in a _queercore_ band.  

“Is anyone is your band actually gay?” 

Dean narrows his eyes at Cas, but bumps their shoulders together with a laugh. “We’re all queer to some extent, and truthfully the band is queercore because Pam says so; she writes a lot of the songs.” He smiles at Cas, and it almost makes him forget that they’re supposed to be at odds, and he’s caught up in how genuine it looks. “Actually I think Jo dated Pam for a while when she was sixteen…” Dean wrinkles his nose and beams at Cas again when he laughs alongside him. 

Dean stills for a moment and his face becomes serious when he next speaks, “Look about earlier—” 

Cas doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t need Dean’s polite apologies and pitying stares, he doesn’t need anyone to feel sorry for him. He’s a big boy – he’s heard those nasty slurs on many occasions – he’s grown a thick skin. He’s had to; he wouldn’t be able to withstand Crowley if he hadn’t. 

“Forget it.” 

“Cas—” 

“Just don’t!” Cas hisses, and it comes out much more vicious than he’d intended. Dean doesn’t get angry like he expects though, he just takes a deep breath and slumps against the side of the van. 

They come around a corner with far too much speed and it sends Dean slamming into Cas, who gets crushed by a falling drum set from the other direction. A symbol smacks him in the side of the head, and the bass drum knocks him hard in the chest. 

“If you don’t have a drummer, then why the fuck do you have drums – you fistful of assbutts!” Castiel screeches as he tosses the drums across the van with a scowl.

Sam and Jo, who were bickering about what the band should be called this month, go quiet and whip their heads around to gawp at Cas, then back at each other. 

“ _Fistful of Assholes_ ,” Jo says with a grin slowly spreading across her face, but Sam just holds his hands up and shakes his head.

“No – _no_!” He turns to look at Dean for help, but Dean is busy choking on his own spit from the laughter that caught him off-guard. “You are not calling your band Fistful of Assholes – I refuse to be your designated sober roadie if you do – Dad wouldn’t even let me come with you guys if he found out!” 

Cas feels his face heating up because he has a tendency to blurt out the most ridiculous string of curses when he’s particularly angry, and _assbutt_ , really? – Definitely not one of his finest. What’s worse though, is the way Dean is looking at him now; all soft eyes and small smiles, ducking his head whenever Cas catches him. It feels like a real Kodak moment, what with Sam and Jo’s singing and laughter in the background, the dim overhead lighting casting a spotlight of sorts over Cas and Dean. There’s even a warmth settling in Cas’ bones to match it all, and when Dean meets his eyes and holds a stare with the same smile, Cas is scared that the warmth is going to take over his entire body and swallow him up. 

But like all good moments, this one ends. It’s swiftly interrupted by the shrill ringing of Cas’ phone – an abrupt wake-up call to drag them all back down to earth. Cas fumbles clumsily at the buttons of his cell and answers without so much as a glance at the caller-ID, just desperate for any form of distraction. 

“Cas?” 

There’s no mistaking the familiar sound of Balthazar’s drunken wailing, and Cas feels a pang of guilt at the neediness in his voice. 

“Where are you?” Cas asks, though he has little hope of Balthazar actually knowing the answer. 

“Cas – Cas, I found Jesus!” He slurs, and Cas just rolls his eyes and wonders where he went wrong to end up with this for a best friend. “He’s taller in person and Cas – Cassie – he has a massive—” 

“Where _are_ you?” Cas asks again, because he honestly doesn’t even want to know how that sentence is going to end. 

“I have to go, okay? There’s an altar boy with no pants on—altar boy why do you have no pants on?” There’s a rustling on the other line before a loud thump, and Cas can only assume that Balthazar has dropped his phone, but the line gets disconnected a few seconds later anyway. 

Cas groans and puts his face in his hands, not having the slightest inkling of what to do next. He’s usually good at deciphering Balthazar’s ramblings, finding out which toilet of which club he’s currently slumped over, or making sure he doesn’t get on the bus he _thinks_ will take him home. But this is impossible – this is _ridiculous_. 

“What is it?” Dean asks, and Cas flinches at the close proximity, not realising they’d been close enough for Dean’s breath to land on his neck. Cas looks up at him with a deflated wilt to his expression and can’t do anything but shake his head. “Was that Balthazar?” 

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Cas sighs, and he almost thinks Dean is about shuffle closer and wrap an arm around him, but he doesn’t. Instead, Dean places his hands in his lap, a safe distance away from Castiel, and looks straight ahead. 

“What did he say?”

“There was an altar boy with no pants on and apparently Jesus was there too.”

Cas doesn’t miss the way Dean bites back a chuckle, but he appreciates the fact that he doesn’t all out erupt into laughter. He probably wouldn’t blame him if he did – the words sound absurd coming out of his mouth.

“He’s probably at the Roadhouse,” Jo says, as if it’s the most obvious thing. She rolls her eyes and looks exasperated when they all stare at her blankly, the cogs still not whirring in their brains. “Friday is drag cabaret night?”

“Isn’t it a little early for Nativities…” Sam mumbles, and Jo just huffs out a laugh and turns back to the wheel. 

“Since when does a queen need an excuse to sing?”

They make a U-turn at the end of the street, pushing Cas and Dean closer together again, but this time there’s no awkward shuffling away once they regain balance. Just Dean looking at his with a serious frown, as though he’s trying to work something out. 

“What?”

“I just think it’s insane how you run around after him,” Dean replies, and his tone could easily be mistaken for one of mockery if not for his sincere expression. “You’re not responsible for the guy.”

Cas isn’t sure he understands what Dean is trying to get at, and he can feel his eyebrows tugging together as he stares back at Dean. “He’s my best friend – that’s what friends do – they look after each other.” 

Dean turns away and scoffs, his eyebrows jerking upwards in disbelief. “And does he ever look after you?” 

“Do you care?” Cas spits out, and he wants to swallow the words back down as soon as they’ve hit the air. Dean probably wishes he would too because he’s looking at Cas with wide eyes and no answer on his lips. 

“I just—”

“He does. Not in the same way, but he’s practically my brother.”

Dean doesn’t counter this, just nods and drops it. But Cas keeps catching him watching again, but instead of the shy little smiles he would see before, all Cas manages to find are worried and half-hearted upturns of Dean’s mouth. _Pity_ , that’s the last thing Castiel wants – he doesn’t even deserve it – there’s nothing for Dean to feel sorry about in the first place. This is his life and Cas is used to it, he’s mostly happy with it too, he doesn’t need anybody to tell him that’s it’s not enough.

Nobody says anything for the rest of the ride, the van filled only with the sound of one of the band’s demos. It’s nothing Cas hasn’t heard before, they pop up on Dean’s mixes now and again, but Cas feels like he’s listening from a new angle now. Instead of trying to pick out the lyrics from lo-fi thrashing of guitar chords, Cas finds himself hearing the bass louder than anything else, its steady rhythm ringing clear as a bell in his head. 

In different circumstances, maybe Cas would tell Dean that he’s a really good bassist, that they should play some of the songs Dean writes because they’re a lot more poignant than Pam’s. But it’s too late – they’ve already done everything backwards. They were boyfriends before their first kiss, and not even a day has gone by yet and they’re already hurling abuse at each other. 

Cas feels lost in a desert of uncertainty, nothing to show him the way forward, and nothing to help him retrace his steps back. Usually he would go to Anna about something like this – Balthazar doesn’t _do_ relationships, and even if Anna can’t hold one down either, she’s still an expert in the theory of it. But Anna is the reason he’s in this mess so he can’t exactly go crawling back to her. 

There’s a plan being formulated that Castiel doesn’t listen to. He just catches snippets of the conversation in the background. 

_We all have fake IDs right?_

_Sam we’ll just sneak you in, it’ll be fine._

_Ellen will skin me alive—_

_She won’t catch you if you stay away from the bar._

_They’ll never find the body if you do get caught._

Cas only manages to tune in again when the van comes to a stop near Ludlow Street, around the corner from Harvelle’s Roadhouse. He’s been there a couple of times before with Balthazar, but it was deemed too tame in comparison to the other places he drags Cas along to. 

Cas had liked it though; the dim lighting, mismatched chairs, and log paneling made him feel strangely at home in an entirely unfamiliar place. He’d never visited anywhere like it before – it definitely isn’t the sort of establishment his parents would have him step foot in. 

The place is a little out of the way, or as much as it can be in Manhattan, sitting on a street lined with cheap diners and cheaper convenience stores. There’s no line to get in, not that there ever is, but there’s still someone manning the door. Cas isn’t exactly sure why, but he can only guess it’s to keep the underage teens at bay. 

As they get closer Cas thinks he may recognize the doorman, and he really hopes his eyes are deceiving him. Because there’s no way it can be who he thinks – not dressed up white hot pants and feathery angel wings.

Cas’ eyes almost pop out of their sockets when he realises it ‘s _exactly_ who he thinks.

 

 

**_Dean_**  

Dean’s not even sure he’s really at the Roadhouse because he’s sure as hell never seen this guy at the door before. He didn’t even know there _was_ a drag cabaret every Friday – not that he’s spent huge amounts of time there anyway. The problem about your best friend’s mother owning a bar, is that she is fully aware of how old you are – or more aptly, how young. When he has been though, it’s usually carefully planned to coincide with Ellen’s nights off, and it all depends on who’s at the door that particular evening.

So when Dean walks up to the Roadhouse, expecting to see Ash’s choppy mullet and ripped jeans, you can hardly blame him for the way his jaw drops when it’s _not_ Ash. Instead, it’s a short guy in shockingly tight hot pants that probably have some embarrassing slogan emblazoned across the back. That’s not even the weirdest part – the wings are. They’re not the cheap kind from the local costume store; they rise just above his head and end by his waist, covered in soft gold feathers and what looks like a lifetime’s supply of glitter.

Stranger still is that Cas seems to recognise the guy. Cas – the one who has been so affectionately labeled frigid by several people this evening. Cas, the fiery boy from an expensive Catholic school, knows a man who dresses like a stripper. 

“ _Gabriel_?” He groans, and Cas’ cheeks have gone pink as he looks incredulously at the angel. Dean chides himself for thinking primarily about how nice that blush looks, and how much nicer it would look if it spread further down Cas’ body too. 

“Castiel! What are you doing here?” Gabriel coos, and he breaks out into a mischievous smirk with waggling eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were into drag now – your parents must be—” 

“What are _you_ doing here— what are you _wearing_?” Cas grits out, and he looks vaguely humiliated now, so much so that Dean expects him to melt into a puddle on the spot. 

“Daddy-dearest has essentially disowned me and I needed a job,” Gabriel shrugs, but Cas looks less than convinced. 

“Your father would never disown you,” Cas says skeptically, and he takes a step back. “What kind of fucked up thing did you do?”

“Okay so he didn’t exactly disown me! But someone _may_ have directed him to a porno that I _may_ have been involved in on some level.” 

“Please tell me you didn’t.” 

“Oh, _I_ did – and hey – don’t give that look, Cas, you wouldn’t believe how much they paid me!” 

“Your family live, sweat, and breathe money. How could this possibly be necessary?” 

“If I’m going to be a successful director of high class erotica films, I need experience in the industry!” 

Dean doesn’t think Cas is even listening anymore, and he half expects him to stick his fingers in his ears and hum loudly to himself over the sound of Gabriel’s voice. 

“I can’t believe I know you…” Cas mutters under his breath, and it looks as though he’s losing the will to live. 

Dean takes it upon himself to rectify the situation, considering they did actually come here with a job to do. He steps in front of Cas and glares at Gabriel. “Well are you gonna let us in or not?” 

Gabriel is unimpressed though, and just snorts as he turns back to Cas. “This one’s feisty, where’d you pick him up?” 

Dean feels Cas take a step forwards, and in his peripheral vision he can see the tension in his muscles as he clenches his jaw. Without thinking, Dean curls his fingers around Cas’ forearm and squeezes reassuringly, willing him to relax a little. 

There’s a part of his brain that’s begging to know why Cas reacts so strongly to Gabriel’s question/insinuation/taunt. But Dean knows better than to listen to the too-inquisitive nagging in his head. It usually ends up leading him to the worst of places. 

“At Chuck’s.” Cas sighs eventually, and his stiff posture deflates. 

“Do your parents know you were there, hm?” Gabriel gives Cas a look that Dean knows well, the horribly condescending and fake disappointment that an older brother gives to his younger brother. It makes him wonder just what the connection between the two of them is. 

“Fuck, Jo, can’t you pull some strings? Your mom owns the place!” Dean presses, because he hates being out of the loop and it makes him impatient. 

“Christ, don’t get your panties in a twist!” Gabriel says with a roll of his eyes. “I like you a lot better than Cas’ last ‘ _friend’_. So look, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” It sounds a lot creepier than Dean thinks it’s intended to, but he’s pretty sure that’s just a result of Gabriel’s overall persona. 

The guy _is_ dressed like a gay stripper after all. 

“Aside from overlooking your little age problem, I’ll even let the kid in if Cas promises to chip in a good word for me with his dad.” Gabriel presses his lips together and bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for an answer.  

Cas frowns and pokes his head over Dean’s shoulder. “You know I’m happy to do that when it’s you— you’re practically family.” 

Gabriel grins and preens what he can reach of his wings to detract from the blush on his cheeks. Dean feels Castiel’s fingers brush against his own, almost as if he’s about to grab his hand, and Dean twitches with the instinct to follow the movement. But then Cas’ fingers are gone almost as quickly as they’d come, and he’s leading the way into The Roadhouse. 

“Drinks on the house, Cassie!” Gabriel says, and both his hands are planted on Cas’ cheeks as he pulls him in for firm but quick kiss, one that’s strictly platonic if Cas’ awkward laugh is anything to go by.

Gabriel gives Dean a playful slap on the ass they walk in, and he decides that Gabriel must be a good egg, so instead of glaring back at him Dean sends a wink in his direction. Sam’s the last one in and he gets a hair ruffle just for good measure, but like the angsty teenager his is, he really does scowl and try to smooth it back out. When Dean turns back he notices that Cas has been watching him with a small smile, nothing more than an upturn of the corners of his mouth, but there’s a fondness there that Dean can’t place. 

“I like this one, Cas!” Gabriel shouts from the doorway. “Big improvement. Definitely a keeper!” 

Dean wonders what the comparison is – Cas’ snarky little ex-whatever? It’s not hard to be an improvement on that piece of work. But if Gabriel’s approval bumps him up in Cas’ books, then he’ll take it. 

Surprisingly, the Roadhouse still looks like the Roadhouse. The only thing that’s different is the people. When they walk in a lot of heads turn, and they must look like a bunch of twinks with their lady friend. There are guys lounging in their seats and sprawled out in booths, and they’re staring with a hunger in their eyes as they nod in clear invitation. 

Dean’s not oblivious, he knows that he’s probably the teenage wet dream of a lot of guys – he’s been told enough times by now, usually in seedy bars he shouldn’t be setting foot in. But what’s worse is that they’re giving Cas the same look. Dean sinks his teeth into his tongue to keep himself from saying anything stupid. He can’t help but be agitated by their leering, and finds himself wanting nobody else to even look at Cas with a hint of desire. _Fuck_ , he wants nothing more than to spin the guy around and devour him in front of all these people, mark his skin up in shades of purple and red to keep anyone else away. 

He’d love to do that _oh_ so much, but he can’t. Not with Sam trailing behind warily and a task on his hands. 

Dean feels like he’s in Oz on an acid trip – he’s never seen so many drag queens covered in glitter and feathers and lord knows what else. The Roadhouse has never looked so damn colourful either, always dark and shadowy instead. Now it looks like a unicorn took a dump right in the middle of the place. Even the details from Balthazar’s call are here: altar boys walking around in brown leather briefs with trays of jello shots balanced on one shoulder, and a bearded guy in a disturbingly short robe with a crown of thorns on his head. 

There should be something very unsettling about Jesus smoking a joint by the side door of a bar, but Dean being the guy he is, just smiles even wider and wants to high-five him, possibly ask for a few tokes too. 

He doesn’t get long to imagine how that would play out though, because Cas is grabbing his bicep and dragging him into the main crowd, and it’s the biggest that has ever graced the Roadhouse. The modest stage at the back usually just houses guys with acoustic guitars and rough voices, but all that has been replaced by a sparkly backdrop and four nuns singing Christmas carols with an alarming number of innuendos slipped in. Not to mention the way they’re hitching up their dresses to reveal suspenders and garter-belts, before they tear the dresses off all together and end the number with jazz hands. 

_Technically_ , they’re still looking for Balthazar – and they are, honestly. But while the next act starts to prepare themselves, music blasts out of the speakers to fill the interval. By this point they’ve wormed themselves into the middle of the crowd and are surrounded by people at all angles, so when the next song plays and everyone else goes wild, they really have no choice other than to go along with it. 

Only the first note on the introduction has to play and everyone throws their hands in air and screams, while Dean raises an eyebrow and is rooted to the spot in amazement. Really though, what did he expect? There’s probably something wrong if Hot Chocolate _isn’t_ played on a drag night. 

Sam has already been whisked away by someone dressed as a _very_ extravagant Cleopatra, and poor scrawny kid that he is, is being twirled around and spun out and shimmied into. Gabriel has somehow materialised behind Cas and slips a headband on over his ruffled hair, a gold halo made of tinsel sticking up from it. That’s not where it ends though, _oh no_ , Gabriel whips out a pair of angel wings to match his own, only these are black and lack the sprinkling of glitter, and he forces Cas’ arms through them. 

This is where Dean starts to realise what’s happening, or about to happen.

Jo has found her way behind Dean and not-so-subtly edges him forwards, pushing him closer to Cas. While of course, Gabriel does the exact same thing to Cas. It feels suspiciously like something that would happen at an awkward party for thirteen year olds, and both Dean and Cas have the horrified blushes to prove it. 

“That’s – that’s Gabriel – this isn’t me,” Cas mumbles, trying to look anywhere but at Dean as the space between them gradually closes. 

“Um yeah, yeah it’s okay.” Because what is he supposed to say? To make it worse, Gabriel and Jo have joined everyone else in shouting along to the song at the top of their lungs, and it’s fast becoming the weirdest dance sandwich Dean’s ever been a part of.

_Where did you come from baby?_

_How did you know I needed you?_

Their chests are almost pressed up against each other and Cas bites on his bottom lip when he finally has to look at Dean again, and _fuck_ , Dean would really like to tug at it himself until Cas’ mouth is red and swollen. But instead he just sucks it up and smiles, letting Jo sway his hips dangerously close to Cas’.

_Where did you come from angel?_

_How did you know I’d be the one?_  

Gabriel picks Cas’ arms up and wraps them around Dean’s neck, giving a final shove forwards to propel Cas flat against Dean. With Jo and Gabriel not budging on the outside, Dean and Cas have no option other than to keep up with their movements so they all stay upright.

_I believe in miracles, since you came along_

_You sexy thing_

Dean doesn’t trust his dick to stay down when Castiel is rubbing up against him, the solid weight of his arms around his neck as Cas stares up shyly from under his eyelashes. It’s so fucking _perfect_ and he wants to keep Cas like this forever, even if he won’t admit it. He plants his hands on Cas’ hips and okay, _yes_ ; maybe he does pull Cas into him a little harder. 

“Nice outfit,” Dean smirks, and Cas’ cheeks flush even darker, that pretty blush dipping all the way beneath the neck of his sweater. Dean leans in a little closer so that Cas can’t bow his head in embarrassment this time, and he has to hold his gaze with a dubious smile. 

“I look like Gabriel,” he says with a small laugh, and Dean would be lying if he said the sound didn’t warm him all the way to his bones. He’s completely aware of how bad an idea this whole thing is, that at least when they were bickering in moving vehicles Dean could pretend not to notice all these things, but now he can’t hide from them – he doesn’t _want_ to. 

“Baby, it looks a hell of a lot better on you.” The low drawl of Dean’s voice surprises even himself, and there are no words for how glad he is that Jo and Gabriel take this as their cue to wander off. Cas’ arms slip down slightly, and his hands are hot on the back of Dean’s neck, fingers gently carding through his hair. 

_Kiss me, you sexy thing_  

Dean is using every fibre of restraint in his body just to _keep_ from kissing Cas. He wants to drag this out, make this moment endless and thrilling and on the edge of heaven. But Cas’ lips are parted and he’s grinding into Dean with purpose now, rutting what Dean _knows_ is his half-hard cock against his thigh. 

_Touch me baby, you sexy thing_  

Dean leans his forehead against Cas’, feels the warmth of their mingling breaths and the brush of their noses. He closes his eyes and resigns himself to nothing but the music thumping in his ears and every point that Cas’ body meets his. Dean slides his fingers upwards, slipping beneath the hem of Cas’ sweater to glide across burning skin. He grips hard and relishes the thought that he might leaves bruises, that Cas will see them and remember the way Dean held onto him. 

_I love the way you touch me baby_  

Dean finds his restraint wearing away, and it’s so fucking hard to care when Cas is digging his nails into the nape of his neck, breath hitching with every other roll of hips. Dean takes a chance and noses his way down Cas’ jaw, before pressing his lips to his neck, scraping his teeth at the line where stubble meets smooth skin, and he bites a little mark there. 

And _that’s_ when they find Balthazar. 


	3. The Roadhouse

**_ Cas _ **

It’s no surprise that Cas doesn’t hear Balthazar’s excited shouting over the music because frankly, his mind is on other things. Other things like the way Dean’s mouth is latched onto his neck and the heat radiating between their bodies. Nothing exists except for this, the friction between them and the unadulterated lust. But when Dean’s lips start making their way up to Cas’ mouth, there’s a commotion that he can’t ignore. 

At first Cas assumes he’s imagining the chant of his name, but it doesn’t go away and it sounds suspiciously British. So as much as it pains him, he turns away from Dean and cranes his neck to find where the voice is coming from. In the back of his mind, Cas bitterly thinks about how he’s going to _slaughter_ Balthazar as soon as he’s sobered up. 

Then Cas sees the very man himself – onstage. 

“Cas – Cassie – look! I’m a tree Cas, I’m Christmas!”

Balthazar isn’t even lying. He has literally become part of the stage décor, rising up from inside a fake pine tree with the top section secured onto his head. It’s even wrapped in lights and tinsel and is topped off with a star. 

“Merry Christmas, Cas!” He shouts through a wide grin, and Cas shrivels up inside from embarrassment because a microphone has been set up near Balthazar, and it projects every word. “You brought the queercore bassist – happy Hanukkah!” 

Dean straightens up a little at this, his gaze flitting from Balthazar to Cas as a frown settles on his forehead. “I’m not even Jewish.” 

Cas ignores his grumbling though, grabbing his wrist and pushing through the tight crowd with Dean stumbling along behind him. Honestly, Cas is hoping that if they can retrieve Balthazar unharmed things might start to fall into place more easily. He could ask Dean for that ride again, or ask him to help out with getting Balthazar on the subway. It’s only a slither of a wish though, because deep down Cas knows that once they get Balthazar out, this night is over. He’ll be going home with nobody but his asshole drunk friend and he’ll only be another hazy face buried in Dean’s memories. 

He doesn’t realise how tightly he’s clinging onto Dean until his fingers are carefully pried off. What’s more unexpected though, is Dean slipping his hand into Cas’ and squeezing gently. It makes his heart flutter, and Cas wants to punch Dean for making this harder for him. For making Cas want to stay when he knows he’ll have to go. 

It’s not hard to retrieve Balthazar since the only security next to the stage is a small, skinny guy with a mullet, and he seems to give Dean a nod of acknowledgement before he speaks up. 

“This one yours?” 

There’s a rush of cold air where Dean’s hand slips from Cas’, and he balls his fist up to try and ignore the clamminess of his palm and the twitching under his skin that craves more contact. 

“Uh, yeah, kind of. Do you mind?” The guy steps back to allow the two of them to jump up the steps from the side of the stage. 

Balthazar is still having the time of his life from inside the tree, perking up even more when he sees them approach. Once they’ve managed to heave Balthazar out and force him out of the hat, he throws himself at Cas and squeezes him into a hug. 

“You left me – you never leave me. Where were you?” He mumbles into Cas’ shoulder, words bleeding into one another. Yeah, still hammered. In fact, he’s probably had a few cocktails since he arrived. “I was kidnapped – Cas – _kidnapped_!” 

Cas rubs a hand over Balthazar’s back and edges them over so they’re not in plain sight of everyone else. “Dean’s friends were taking you home.” Balthazar just looks at Cas blankly, so he shoves Dean forwards an inch until he nods in agreement. “You bolted and I’ve been freaking out – don’t _ever_ fucking do that again!” 

Balthazar presses into Cas’ side as he leads him back down the steps, and Cas knows what’s coming next. 

“Do you hate me? Please don’t be mad, Cassie.”

“It’s Castiel or Cas, _don’t_ call me that.” 

“But are you – are you mad at me?” 

Cas sighs heavily and rubs his temple; he absolutely hates dealing with drunks. Or more accurately, he hates dealing with a drunken Balthazar. It doesn’t take much for him to become a dog in heat, but when he’s this far gone he even starts to proposition Cas. It’s happened on occasion, and every time Cas sort of wants to bleach any recollection he has of it. He thinks he’s safe for now – except for wandering hands clinging at him beneath his sweater – but Dean is definitely a prime target.

“I’m not angry, I was worried.” 

Dean and Cas both get one of Balthazar’s arms around their shoulder, sticking to the edge of the makeshift dance floor as they try to lead him out. Balthazar hardly helps, tripping over every other step and head lolling heavily, but they manage to snag a free table and drop him in a chair. 

Dean gets out his phone and makes a call, presumably to Sam or Jo, while Cas sits down and scoots over to get closer to Balthazar, placing a gentle hand between his shoulder blades when he rests his forehead on the table. There’s a glam-rock medley blasting out of the speakers now, and as Cas watches Dean plug one ear with his finger and shout into his phone with a frustrated little frown, Cas has got Bowie and Bolan as his glitter-filled soundtrack. 

Dean puts his cell away and blinks when he notices Cas staring. “What?” 

Cas tilts his head slightly, reconsidering Dean.  

There are a lot of nice things about Dean. His skin is lightly tanned, and Cas wonders how much more golden it would be if Dean had never moved to New York. There’s a splatter or freckles across his nose, a trail of them on the back of his neck too, leaving Cas to wonder just how far they extend. There’s so much mystery to Dean’s body alone – the hardness of his hands, the white scar on the side of his neck, even more scars on his knuckles. 

Cas comes from a place where pyjamas are not acceptable attire for breakfast, where he is a nuisance because he can’t get his hair to lie flat, where people like Anna and Balthazar are allowed to go crazy as long as they show up for church on Sunday and don’t embarrass their parents. Dean is the antithesis of everything in Cas’ life up until now. He is the very embodiment of everything that Cas’ world isn’t; and well doesn’t that send a cool shiver up Cas’ spine. 

He holds Dean’s gaze and swallows compulsively, his throat suddenly dry. “Nothing.” He tries to ignore the tightening of his gut when Dean smiles at him, shaking his head with an amused glint in his eyes. 

By the time Sam and Jo emerge, Balthazar has his head pressed into Cas’ lap and is snoring against his stomach. Dean is on his other side, elbows resting on the table as he steals sideways glances at Cas. A laugh rises through Cas, never quite surfacing though, because the two of them are pretty pathetic. Is it going to be like this all night – staring at the other when they’re not looking, never saying what either of them are dying to?

Sam looks like he’s just been dragged through a hedge, his hair defying the laws of gravity and clothes askew at every angle. Jo’s lips are smacked together, probably biting back some sarcastic remark and an all-out fit of hysterics. Dean doesn’t even say anything, just raises his eyebrows at Sam and gives him a low whistle. Cas isn’t sure what to think – either that drag queen had a _really_ fun time with him, or Jo kissed the grimace right off his face. It looks like a vat of glitter was emptied on top of him though, so Cas goes with the former. 

Cas makes to stand up, heaving Balthazar upright so he can push his chair back. “Let’s go.” 

Sam begins to nod but gets a sharp jab in his side from Jo’s elbow, and she shoots him a look that must mean _something_ because Sam is clearing his throat and putting on a twitchy smile. 

“We’ve got this! You guys, uh, stay here. Hang out, and… stuff.”

Cas can’t help but snort at Sam’s stammering, because that’s not suspicious at _all_. Besides, he’s not sure he wants to risk losing Balthazar again, there’s no telling where he’ll end up next time. A crack den, maybe. 

“That’s very nice of you but I really should--” 

“It is the _least_ we can do!” Jo cuts in, hurrying around the table to get one of Balthazar’s arms around her neck. She gives Sam another Look, and then he’s shifting into action and coming over to carry most of Balthazar’s weight. “I’ll make sure he sits up front so he doesn’t do a vanishing act again.” 

By the time Jo has finished talking they’ve got Balthazar on his feet and are practically ready to bolt out of the place, and Cas supposes he doesn’t have much choice in the matter at this point. And he’s not sure why he’s so adamant in cradling Balthazar into unconsciousness _anyway_ ; he can do that any weekend of his life. Why not be adventurous and stay out later than Balthazar for once –it’ll give people something to talk about. 

Cas turns to say something to Dean, seeing only his face bowed in embarrassment and a dark pink flush rising up his neck. Cas bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, because it’s actually stupidly adorable. 

_Adorable_. Never thought he’d see the day where he called another guy adorable, not one that’s got a good few inches on him and looks like he could take down a bull. But then there’s Dean sitting mere inches away, all freckles and a dusty tan and bright white teeth. Cas doesn’t see the scars anymore; they don’t fit with everything else, like sloppy marring on a piece of art done as an afterthought. 

“I am so sorry,” Dean mutters, his ears a similar shade of red now. 

“What for?” 

Dean lifts his head to give Cas a hard, narrow-eyed look, and Cas knows that this is not a thing they’re going to talk about. The music is at full volume again and Cas doesn’t want to waste the opportunity that has been given to him – he’d actually like to hear what Dean is saying. 

“You wanna get out of here?” And he’s pushing his chair back and rising from his seat, only to be shoved back into it by a pair of hands on his shoulders. He turns around and _of course_ Gabriel is there looking smugger than humanly possible. 

He drags over a chair from the table behind them and Cas gets a clear view of the word _“_ heaven _”_ stamped across his backside in gold lettering - yeah, _right_. He makes a mental note to never see Gabriel in hot pants ever again, for his own sanity. 

“I see you finally recovered our Balthazar,” Gabriel says as he sits down, a fond and knowing smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Dean scoffs, and Gabriel dramatically places a hand over his open mouth.

“Did you know he was here the entire time?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes at Cas’ little huff and rests his chin in his hands, elbows propped up on the table. “What can I say? He reminds me of myself in high school – maybe I can make him my protégé!” 

Cas kicks at his shin before Gabriel can get overexcited, and very nearly dodges the punch that comes at the side of his head in retaliation. “ _Ow_! You know I thought I was supposed to miss out on all this when my parents decided to have _one_ child.” Cas rubs at the throbbing spot on his head, scowling when Gabriel barks out a laugh. 

“Kiddo, just because it ain’t biological doesn’t mean you’re not my annoying baby brother. Do you even _remember_ how many times I had to babysit you?” 

Dean lets out a chuckle at that, shaking his head and apologising as they both turn to look at him. “I’m sorry, I just – they let you near kids?” 

“Oh, are you looking for a punch too?” Gabriel asks, his voice full of false sweetness as he stretches his arms out to crack his knuckles. 

Cas knows by now not to be deceived by Gabriel’s rather small fists because what they lack in size, they make up for in iron power. Cas can still hear blood pounding in his ear to testify to that. Dean is smart though, and turns his laughter into a cough before he shakes his head at Gabriel. 

Dean catches Cas’ eye, holds his gaze for that extra second to let him know he’s ready to leave. The corner of his mouth curls up subtly on one side, and there’s a tiny raise of one eyebrow. It’s nothing huge, but Cas thinks he’d strip down and lay himself out on the table if Dean asked him to.  And by the time Dean actually starts talking again, he’s considering it. 

“Well, this has been real fun. Thanks for the favour, Gabriel—” 

There’s a bump under the table and Gabriel jerks suddenly. “Did you just _kick_ me?” 

“No,” Dean replies innocently; a clear lie if his now urgent look at Cas is anything to go by. 

Dean is right though – there’s no telling how long Gabriel plans on sitting in on their conversation, and he’ll probably keep checking up on them if only to mortify Cas. He has another chance here; there’s a wad of cash in his back pocket and Dean has a car (not that it’s even here) and he’s supposed to be showing him a good time. _They’re_ supposed to be having a good time. 

So yeah, maybe Dean gets his pulse raising and his blood boiling in a violent kind of way, but as least there’s something there. Cas doesn’t believe in fate, but surely this _thing_ that they have between them can’t be mistaken for anything but chemistry. Crowley’s been trying to get some passion out of him for god knows how long now, and he here is trying to swallow it down. 

“Goodbye, Gabriel.” Cas stands up, exchanging a promising smile with Dean, and tucks his chair in. “We’re uh, going to hang out somewhere else now.” Cas kicks himself when sees Dean’s shoulders slump all the promise drain out of his expression.

Gabriel, however, perks up and is on his feet in no time at all, reaching up to wrap an arm around both of them. “Not so fast, Castiel, didn’t I promise you free drinks?” 

“Can’t argue with that,” Dean adds, a contemplative tilt of his head as he lets Gabriel lead them away from their table. He doesn’t see Cas glaring at him; either that or he ignores it. _Typical_ , Cas thinks, that he would end up following around the one guy that can make him lose his nerve time and time again. 

“Besides, can’t have you ending up back at Chuck’s – the _one_ place none of us are allowed to go to.” It’s as ridiculous as it sounds, Cas will admit that. Chuck may be his uncle, and he may be the happiest out of any of them in what he’s doing, but he’s still cast out of their pretentious little social circle for it. But Cas just doesn’t see the horror in Chuck turning down a glass office, uncomfortable suits everyday, and all the money that can’t buy him real freedom. 

“Because you let them tell you what to do, _clearly_ ,” Cas bites, but Gabriel just laughs and bumps his hip into Cas’. 

“I’m a responsible adult now and can make my own bad decisions – you’re still a baby and have to do what you’re told. That’s just the way our world works, kid.” 

“He doesn’t have to take shit from anyone,” Dean grumbles, and there’s a fond surge of warmth in Cas. He wants to smooth the frown on Dean’s forehead and kiss him until he’s practically putty, but oh look, Gabriel is cock-blocking _again_. 

It doesn’t last long though; Gabriel soon deposits them an empty table near the back on the other side, where the music is quieter and the lighting is better. Gabriel says he’ll have someone bring their drinks before he disappears, and finally it’s back to being just the two of them again. 

Anyone else would look washed out and tired in the illumination of the overhead fluorescent light, but not Dean. His eyes shine a few shades brighter when he looks straight at Cas, and the tips of his hair look more like a dirty blonde than brown now. 

“You sure do stare a lot.”

Cas’ mouth falls open and he racks his brains for the right words, _anything_ that will keep him from sounding like a creep. But what is he supposed to say? _Sorry but I think you’re beautiful and I want to worship your body in every way possible._ No, that won’t fly; Dean will probably knock his teeth out and file a restraining order against him.

He doesn’t have to think of anything though, because just the sight of Cas’ panicked, blank expression has Dean chuckling and leaning back in his chair casually. “Nice seats Gabriel hooked us up with – I didn’t even know these were here.” 

He’s right – Cas hadn’t seen these either when he last came to the Roadhouse. It’s practically VIP compared to where they were before; the velvet on the armchairs may be kind of ratty but they’re still _armchairs_. And they don’t even smell like excrement. 

“Nice to see you’ve got decent friends. Between your trashed buddy and your car-insulting ex-boyfriend, I was starting to wonder.” There’s a cocky smile on his face, backed by light-hearted humour, but cocky all the same. Cas kicks his foot lightly. 

Dean winks. 

It’s ridiculous how far in over his head Cas is getting and how quickly it’s happening. One minute he’s ogling some bassist in a queercore band, the next he’s trying to calm his raging hormones that seem to have only just awoken. He’s sure his cheeks are probably heating up, not from any kind of embarrassment this time, but because Dean has lit a fuse inside of him and he is rapidly _burning_. The room is suddenly too small and too big, the air is too stuffy but there is too much of it separating them, and his sweater feels heavy and suffocating. 

Somehow, Dean is still encased in all of his layers and looks significantly more comfortable than Cas feels. Henley, plaid shirt, and a leather jacket that looks too big even for him. It’s a good jacket, the leather is worn in and creased, but most of appeal is probably just the fact that it’s hanging off Dean. Cas quickly wriggles out of the angel wings, hoping he won’t look at stupid as he thinks he does. 

“I’m sorry about Crowley,” Cas blurts out of nowhere. He doesn’t feel he owes Dean any kind of explanation about what he has – or had – with Crowley. What he’s really sorry for is what he said about Anna, about him and Anna, but he can’t unclench the part of him that’s holding that confession inside. Yet. 

“Want to tell me about it?” 

Cas has never been on a date. He still doesn’t think that this is the protocol for them though – kissing before you’ve met, and then talking about why your last relationship was a great big bag of shit. But again, Cas has never been on a date to know. The closest Crowley ever got to a date was cracking open a bottle of expensive whiskey _before_ he tried to get in Cas’ pants. He’s never even kissed anyone beside Crowley, unless you count that skeevy girl, Chastity, at summer camp, which he doesn’t. The irony does still bring him a slice of joy though. 

Cas doesn’t want to think about Crowley, much less talk about him. He wants to forget that he ever wasted a minute of his time with him and that he’s gone and fucked up his future by weaving Crowley into it. It seemed like a good idea at the time, partner up with somebody else who could handle the money side of things, do the dirty work. _Christ_ , now it seems like the worst decision he ever could have made, and he’ll have to come up with a whole new plan. 

“I can drive stick shift,” Cas says instead. “Sort of.” 

Dean’s smile is a beautiful slow-growing thing. “So you’re saying you could drive my baby back to – where do you live?” 

“Greenwich Village.” 

Dean’s whistle is low and a little surprised. “Shit, I gotta stop picking up people I can’t afford.” 

“Well if it hurts your pride so much then we can just leave and I’ll get the train home.” 

Dean straightens up and inches forwards, eyebrow raised at Cas. “You’re not like the others from Saint John’s, are you?” Cas isn’t sure if that’s rhetorical or not, so he stays quiet. 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” 

“Yeah, it is.” And Dean needs to stop because that smile just _does_ things to Cas, like making his stomach twist into tight knots and his heart beat a little faster. “So uh, you think you can drive my car back to Greenwich, huh?”

“Are you in some kind of relationship with your car that I should know about?” Cas isn’t even kidding – Dean calls it _baby_ for Christ’s sake. It’s bad enough when Crowley calls him that, but giving a vehicle the same pet name… 

“What, you’re not into three-ways?” Dean laughs before winking. 

Cas feels his cheeks heat up; he’s going to avoid _that_ question like the plague. “Are you one of those guys that names their genitalia too?” 

Dean glances down at his crotch, and then looks up with a feral grin. “I haven’t decided on one yet. Maybe something like The Hunter – or Little Soldier. We’re open to suggestions though.” 

Cas smiles despite himself, because that piece of information should have him running a mile in the opposite direction – not have him swooning. 

The conversation is interrupted by a group of hyper-sexualised elves taking the stage. Cas is really never going to see Christmas in the same way again after this night; he’ll forever be reminded of drag acts gyrating over Jesus’ crib and Mary doing a strip tease under a spotlight. Seriously, he’s allowed to be _here_ but not at Chuck’s? 

Dean’s eyes seem to be glued on the women slipping out of their green tunics, leaving behind decidedly festive green nipple pasties with red tassels and matching garters holding up their striped stockings. That’s not even the weirdest part: somewhere between the elves stripping and Mary crooning Silent Night, Dean gets up and pulls Cas to his feet. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Don’t be such a prude,” Dean says, taking Cas’ hand and resting the other on his waist. “Don’t you wanna be able to say you slow danced to strippers performing Christmas carols?” 

Cas doesn’t mean to press closer but he fumbles on a back-step and then he’s up against Dean’s body, feeling the rumble of his laughter reverberate through his chest. He could pull away, he could tell Dean it’s too intimate and too weird and they’re not quite there yet, but he doesn’t. Instead he’s inching closer, trying his luck with how far Dean will let him go, until his face is buried into Dean’s neck and the hand on his waist slides around to the dip of his back. 

Dean is warm, like a safe haven that has Cas feeling unusually wobbly and a little drunk. In this moment there is nothing outside of the two of them; there is no Crowley and no impending future to rattle Cas. There is just this awkward shuffling of feet and Dean’s soft chuckling by his ear, the firm grip of Dean’s fingers around his own and the smell of leather and aftershave filling Cas’ nostrils. 

He can almost imagine his life being something else, one that has Dean Winchester and his plucky little brother and his wild band in it. It’s a scary thought though, one that Cas is letting himself entertain far too quickly, and it sends a shiver through him. As if this dream of a dance wasn’t unreal enough, Dean shrugs out of his jacket and pushes it into Cas’ arms. 

Cas hesitates but Dean is looking at him so insistently and there’s a flash of vulnerability and apprehension that graces his face for half a second, and Cas feels like he’s in a daze as he pulls it on. If it was big on Dean, it’s huge on Cas, the sleeves falling over his hands as it swamps him. Someone else’s jacket shouldn’t be allowed to be this comforting, and Cas feels like he’s melting from the inside out. 

The songs ends and the Roadhouse fills with the sound of applause and wolf whistles, but without the ridiculous music and outrageous dancers behind them Cas feels too close and too exposed. He doesn’t want Dean for just tonight, he doesn’t want him in a dirty bathroom stall for something quick and rough. He wants him for longer, he wants to be selfish and keep him and wake up to his dumb one-liners and a sleepy smile. He isn’t going to get that though, and entertaining the idea is pouring salt on the wound. 

“Why are you so _nice_ to me?” Cas asks, and he gets his hands on Dean’s chest to push him away. Dean’s mouth is hanging open as he tries to process what he did to set Cas off again, but Cas is already looking away and trying to distance himself. “I have to pee.” 

He doesn’t, but he runs to the bathroom all the same and locks himself inside. Cas swipes the toilet seat with a paper towel and sits down carefully, putting his head in his hands as he reigns in a scream or a groan or _something_. Any sense of control Cas thought he had is gone, and it’s terrifying that Dean has already managed to worm his way into his head and have such a big impact. 

When he woke up this morning, it was a normal day; nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen. Sail through school, stare at the college acceptance letter on the table, and go out to see some band Balthazar likes, anything that didn’t involve a family dinner with his parents. This was supposed to be like any other Friday night; he would watch Balthazar hook up with some schmuck and get him home to look after him, and Balthazar would promise to do Cas’ homework for the next few days. 

One stupidly attractive bass player later, and Cas is on a date at a drag cabaret with a whole load of new sexual fantasies. Then again, Cas knows he’d never be so out of character just for some hot guy. Dean is _nice_ , he lets his little brother trail after him without babying him, and he offered to give two strange guys a ride home without knowing a thing about them. He’s brash and sarcastic and gruff, but with enough twisting he’s warm and thoughtful and protective.

Herein lies the problem, because what did _Cas_ do to deserve someone like that? He doesn’t have Balthazar’s charm, or Anna’s headstrong confidence; he’s just plain old Castiel. He’s another by-product of the Catholic private school system, trying to break his chains by turning down college and entering the very business his family hates. 

Cas deflates and breathes out a sigh, eyes falling on the trail of graffiti on one wall.

 

> _Charlie gives good head. I’m girls-only from now on._
> 
> _All men’s souls are immortal, but the souls of the righteous are immortal and divine – Socrates._
> 
> _'_ _She walked like a woman and talked like a man’ – I feel you, Ray Davies._
> 
> _Drowning your sorrows in a bathroom stall, gauging how drunk you are, and wondering when this night will end? Grow some balls and get up: Free Will, secret show, tonight, HERE._

Cas freezes. There’s no indication of a date in the last message but his finger comes away inky when he rubs at it. There’s a spark in Cas’ bones at the though of that show being tonight, and he’s going to _kill_ Gabriel for not telling him about it too.  _Fuck_ , Cas really hopes the bathroom scrawls do not lie because Free Will is the only band that really makes him lose his shit in the best way possible. The music label under his dad’s company had tried signing them once, but there was no way in hell or on earth that they would agree. 

This is really when Cas needs Balthazar to be present and sober – at least partially sober anyway. He has a chance to forget all about his creepy ex and the self-doubt riddling his brain right now, to pretend that he doesn’t want to go home and crawl into bed with a bag of White Castle cheeseburgers. He could go out there and jump around to his favourite band with this _great_ guy who keeps putting up with all his mixed signals and volatility.   

Balthazar would probably grab Cas by the shoulders and shake him. He’d tell Cas to pick himself up from the ground, stop sulking like the grumpy asshole he is, and go out and fucking _take_ what he wants for once. In another time, Anna would have said the same thing and hugged him afterwards, probably to mumble that she was proud of him. 

He could do it. Cas knows that Dean loves Free Will too; after all he’s inadvertently the one who introduced them to Cas. Almost every mixtape has at least one of their tracks on it, and Cas had downloaded all the albums once he got into them. God, what he wouldn’t do for Dean to make him a few mixes. He’d feel a lot better about having them if they were actually meant for him, not scraped out of a trashcan or the backseat of Anna’s car.

Fuck it. 

Cas grabs the marker hanging from a string on the door handle and scribbles out a new message:

 

> _Dean. I’m starting to get that we could have something special._
> 
> _I’ve got that feeling, you know? A profound bond or some shit, written in the stars maybe._
> 
> _I’m sorry._

Cas laughs to himself – actually laughs – because the idea that he could continue living the life he’s got going, with Crowley as his never quite boyfriend and being Balthazar’s wingman, is ridiculous. He can do this for himself, and just because it’s new and different doesn’t mean he has to run away to what he knows. Maybe it’s crazy, but he doesn’t feel like the same person he was when he woke up this morning. 

He stands up and goes over to the sink. He’s ready to do this, and it’s going to be for himself this time.

 

 

**_ Dean _ **

Cas hasn’t punched him again, and this is cause for celebration in itself. 

Dean feels like he hasn’t screwed up yet, or at least not to the same level as last time. They’re sitting in a poor excuse for a makeshift VIP area, for some unknown reason Gabriel seems to actually like him, and he’s got Cas smiling and actually fucking blushing, and it’s all for him. 

Everything is going right; they’re making jokes and somehow he manages to stand up and drag Cas out of his chair. It’s all a blur, Dean’s head is spinning the entire time and he knows it’s got nothing to do with all the beers he drank before they went on stage. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing as he takes Cas’ hand and positions their bodies into some mockery of a formal dancing stance.  

Dean doesn’t register Cas shoving him away until he’s standing alone and Cas is walking away in his jacket. Dean is left gawping in confusion, remembers Cas saying something about him being too nice, before he ran away to take a leak. For all Dean knows, Cas is looking for a window to crawl out of so that he doesn’t have to turn Dean down. 

He stares after Cas for a moment, his feet rooted to the spot where mere moments ago they were swaying clumsily and laughing. There are grand total of two bathrooms in the Roadhouse and the lines for both are a mile long. Gabriel seems to have been demoted to bathroom duty now and keeps it from becoming a warzone, but as soon as he sees Cas the line is being shuffled back and he ushers Cas inside as soon as a door opens. 

Dean’s sure there is something weird about that, especially next to all the excessively good treatment they’ve been receiving, but his mind is already whirring onto the next thing. And _boy_ , does it make his life a whole lot harder. 

Dean will admit that yes, it is possible that he is liking Cas more than is advisable. But when the cons are just numerous variations of _it’s too fast_ and _you don’t want anything serious_ and _he’s probably going to college soon anyway_ , the long list of pros is harder to ignore. For starters there is the kiss: Cas’ chapped lips and pink mouth and the hand on his shoulder that he can’t forget. But it’s the small things; like Cas being interested in Sam and not complaining about Dean’s kid-brother trailing after them; it’s his grumpy scowl when Dean pisses him off and the fact that he can immobilise Dean with one strategically placed punch. 

There is something infuriatingly wonderful about having to work for every one of Cas’ half-smiles and breathy chuckles, and once Dean has heard him laugh hard enough for his entire body to shake with it, he knows that there is no going back.  They could have forgotten about the kiss all together; Dean knows that they have the potential to be great friends, but there’s no chance of that now. Not with the infatuation that is burning it’s way through Dean’s bones; no, it’s too late for that now, he’s just going to end up pining. _Fucking pathetic_ , Dean thinks, and sits back down. 

Dean turns his attention to the guy setting up the stage for the next act; he can’t be much older than Cas but he’s smaller and looks much too sugary-sweet to be in the vicinity of this building. He’s wearing a costume that matches Gabriel’s, and come to think of it there are several of the scantily clad angels wondering around serving drinks and doing odd jobs. 

And speak of devil; Gabriel has given up bathroom duty to materialise into what had been Cas’ seat. He’s got a cocktail in one hand, or what looks like syrup in a sugar-ringed martini glass, and a lollypop in the other.

“Christ, you got enough sugar there?” Dean winces, his nose wrinkling up in horror. 

Gabriel snorts and stirs his drink with the lollypop. “Can it, bucko, I’m on in ten minutes so let’s speed this up.” 

“Speed what up?” 

“And here I was thinking Cas chose _wisely_ this time…” 

Dean sighs, his stomach turning weakly at the mention of Cas’ name. “He still in the bathroom?” 

“Yes, he’s still preening and gnawing at his fingernails. What did you _say_ to him?” Gabriel narrows his eyes and leans forwards, and despite everything he manages to make Dean feel a least a little intimidated.

“I didn’t say anything!” Dean protests quickly, because it’s true – he never even got the chance to. Gabriel just raises his eyebrows and sits back again, eyeing Dean dubiously. 

“How long have you two been… traversing the night?” 

Dean glances at his watch. “Two hours, give or take.” _But it feels like a hell of a lot longer._

Gabriel chuckles and takes a long sip of his cocktail before looking at Dean incredulously. “Well it’s longer than anything I can hold down, so kudos.”

“Yeah well, don’t get your hopes up,” Dean sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “It ain’t exactly been a smooth ride.”

“Nothing good ever is, douchebag,” Gabriel says with a little bite, and Dean thinks he sees a flash of fraternal protectiveness, so he holds his tongue. “Besides, I saw you two dancing and it looked more than promising. You’re good for him--” Dean interjects with a scoff, and Gabriel glares at him. “He’s good for _you_.” 

“Is he?” Dean runs a hand through his hair, because truthfully he doesn’t know. Hooking up has always been easy – okay, so Anna was a blip in his rule of no-strings-attached – but Cas is smashing through every policy Dean has ever set himself. He’s done it in record time too. How good can Cas be for him, when Dean feels horribly unravelled and stripped inside out? 

“Ugh, you wanna talk about it, don’t you?” Gabriel groans, only half-serious. Dean drums his fingers against the tabletop because he really doesn’t know. He’s not exactly one to freely dictate his inner feelings, but he feels like he might combust if he doesn’t say _something_. 

“Are you going to be helpful?” 

“Would you heed my advice?” 

_Touché_. 

Dean takes a deep breath, fills his lungs with the stuffy air surrounding them until his chest is pushed out, before exhaling quickly though his mouth. 

“I just, _fuck_ , this is all happening so fast and I feel like I’m strapped to a fucking rollercoaster that won’t slow down and I just don’t know if I’m ready for this.” The words are pulled out from him in a rush and Dean has no clue whether Gabriel caught a second of that, but his heart is pounding against his ribcage and his knee won’t stop bouncing up and down. 

Gabriel places his hands on the table and interlocks his fingers, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. “Ready for what?”

Dean’s brain decides to shut down entirely at that moment, his mouth opening around no sound as he tries to ask himself the same question. It’s true, he is vaguely terrified, but he hasn’t even tried to pin the feeling down. 

_More_. He’s not sure that he is ready for what promises to be more than a thorough fuck – he doesn’t even know if there’ll _be_ a fuck. He isn’t highly familiar with what it means for someone to be more. Anna was more, but it wasn’t right, they were stretching themselves too far. But Cas – Cas is definitely more, and Dean can’t imagine him being less than that. That’s why he likes Cas; he likes all the dumb things about him that he’s probably not allowed to have without sweetening the pot himself. 

There are no simple words for Dean’s apprehension. How does he articulate the fear of building this all up, only to have it crumble before him? Or the inevitability of one of them royally screwing up until they truly hate each other. Or the small but insistent feeling that Cas won’t want this – want _him_ – and Dean will be left with nothing but a dull ache in his chest.

Gabriel is waiting for an answer, and Dean is quickly freaking himself out and his knee is bobbing even faster now. He spits out the first thing that comes to him. 

“Cas. I don’t know if I’m ready for Cas.” 

If he had expected a sympathetic smile or soothing words of wisdom, he does not get them. Gabriel chokes on his drink and it dribbles down his chin. “The kid’s a nut job – won’t do what anyone in his family wants, much to their chagrin, although his dad doesn’t really give a shit. But he’s special, you know? He’s the kind of guy you want on your side, and he’ll do anything for you if you’re willing to try. You’ll never be ready, you just gotta jump in the deep end.” 

Dean takes a moment to let that sink in, to try and make sense of Gabriel’s words. His head might actually explode, he’s sure of it, there’s a faint throbbing starting up at the back of his skull and he feels a little lightheaded. Gabriel must sense Dean’s nerves going into overdrive because he reaches over to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. 

“You’ll do fine; Cas doesn’t nuzzle just anyone like that. Now man up and stop whining about it.” Gabriel’s eyes flit away and he stops talking, looking just beyond Dean’s face with a grin. Dean follows his gaze and sees Cas emerging from the bathroom, trying to pull the sleeves of Dean’s jacket even further over his hands. 

Another angel-waiter arrives with their drinks: two red and orange cocktails in tall glasses, a little umbrella and pieces of fruit hanging off the side of each one. Gabriel takes that as his cue to leave, but Dean stops him just as he stands up. 

“Who is Cas’ dad? You guys keep talking about his family and I just, who is he?” Dean is thinking about Cas skipping the line for the bathroom, Gabriel asking him to pass his stuff on, and he knows that Cas must be wealthy or something if he goes to Saint John’s but maybe there’s more to it. 

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs breathlessly, cocking his head in a way he’s seen Cas do the same. “You don’t know?” Dean shakes his head and shrugs. “Well fuck, you really are something. _Huh_.”

By the time Gabriel has slipped away Cas is approaching and sits back down, his eyes darting about nervously as he puts on a twitchy smile. This alone should be a bad sign, something to worry Dean, but instead he is oddly warm inside and wants nothing more than to kiss his anxieties away. He knows better than that though, and settles for fiddling with the umbrella in his drink. 

“Are you—is everything okay?” Dean asks hesitantly. There’s a droplet of water trickling down beside Cas’ ear and the front of his hair is a little damp, and Dean wonders if he’d been splashing water over his face in there. 

Cas is rattled and now _Dean_ is the nervous one, because Cas is pulling his drink towards him with a white-knuckled grip and getting ready to say something. Cas looks up, eyes fixed on Dean as he grips the glass tightly between both hands. 

“I owe you an apology, or an explanation at least. You probably think I’ve been screwing you around this entire time and fucking with your head. And I don’t blame you in the slightest if you do. The truth is, I’ve been fucking myself over and I didn’t think about how it might affect you. I like you, _a_ _lot_ , and that terrifies me. I know it sounds tacky and unbelievable, but I’ve never had feelings like this before I met you, and now I just don’t know what to do with them. Up until this point I’ve only ever had to deal with Crowley, and I _know_ he’s an asshole and it’s more of an arrangement than a relationship, so I’ve never had to worry about trusting him. But _you_ , you treat me like I’m worth something and you’re nice to me but you don’t take any of my shit and _fuck_ , why do I love that so much? You let me kiss you and not once have you made me feel obligated to give you more, and there’s some stupid irony in that because I really want to give you everything. So if you want to go home and pretend you never met me, that tonight never happened, I’ll understand. But I just need you to know that if you do, I’ll be really sorry that we couldn’t have been more, that we didn’t even give it a real shot.” 

Cas finally stops to breathe and brings his glass to his lips, chugging half of it down in one go. The end of Cas’ speech gives Dean an opening to collect his thoughts, which are currently racing around his head and bouncing off the walls of his skull. 

He swallows around the lump in his throat, and takes a good look at Cas. 

“My jacket looks good on you.” 

Cas looks at him as though he’s just hit his head. But he doesn’t say anything else, just waits for Dean to explain himself. 

“I mean it. I don’t let anybody wear my jacket but it looks perfect on you, even if it is too big and you look sort of ridiculous. What I mean though, is that if I decided to leave, you’d have to give me my jacket back. And you know what? I don’t want it, I don’t want to ruin this image of you sitting in front of me with a pansy-ass cocktail in your hand and a hickey on your neck.” Dean’s voice is trembling ever so slightly, but he smiles when Cas brings a finger to his neck absent-mindedly. “So just—please stay.” 

Dean feels like a total idiot, practically _begging_ Cas not to leave just yet. His face is burning and he’s sure his ears are red to match, but just as he begins to look away awkwardly, he sees Cas’ small smile. 

“Well thank god for that,” Cas sighs, and even though Dean wants to pass out he manages a scratchy laugh.

“You really thought I’d go?”

Cas shrugs, looking down at his hands in his lap now. “If you did, I was going to bribe you with the fact that Free Will are playing a secret show here tonight.” When Cas looks up he’s biting back a smirk.

Dean makes a conscious effort not to, but he still ends up spraying his drink out of his mouth. Cas’ expression is somewhere between disgust and amusement, and Dean counts himself lucky that Cas doesn’t change his mind about how great he is right there and then.

“Holy fucking _shit_. How do you know?” Dean splutters, and the stars must be aligning somewhere because so many good things could not possibly be happening to him otherwise.

“There was a, um, memo on the bathroom wall. But I checked it out with the bar staff and they were all very secretive, which leads me to assume it’s true.” 

Dean is practically thrumming with anticipation. He’s got Cas back on his side, free alcohol, and an unannounced show from his favourite band. He raises his glass. 

“Here’s to us, and an awesome night.” Cas clinks their glasses together, and there’s still the shifty flicker of hesitation in his eyes but Dean thinks he can work with that; he’s probably mirroring the same expression. He throws back his cocktail, and even though it’s sickly-sweet, it’s also strong as hell and burns his throat on the way down. 

The same angel-waiter from before is walking around with a load of beers on a tray, and spies their drained glasses. He walks over and makes as if he’s about to hand them a couple beers, then pauses to look at Cas more carefully. 

“You’re Castiel, right?” He asks, and Cas gives him a quick nod. The guy mutters “ _cool_ ” or something, deciding to let them have the beers before he sashays off to another table. 

It’s weird, definitely weird. There is something about Cas that Dean doesn’t know, and he feels like he should. Or maybe everyone is just as crazy over Cas’ full lips and bright blue eyes as Dean is. Cas catching him staring though, and he starts to frown at all the extra attention. 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t really know anything about you. I just realised that.”

Cas’ small smile lets Dean relax again, and he lets himself sag further into the chair.

“What do you want to know?”

Dean picks up his beer and rolls the bottle between his palms, needing something to keep his hands busy. He starts with the obvious. “What’s the deal with you and Gabriel?” 

“He’s a family friend – our father’s worked together for a long time. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother—or at least an older brother anyway.”

It makes sense, Dean supposes, thinking about the way Gabriel speaks to Cas and what he’d said to him earlier. He and Balthazar are probably close enough for Cas to consider them brothers, but Cas seems to be the one that looks after him, while Gabriel is looking out for Cas.

It’s almost heart-warming, and Dean suddenly feels incredibly grateful for what he and Sam share. 

Then Dean’s brain lands back on Gabriel, and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to picture the guy in something other than those hot pants. God, he hopes so. There’s a new question sitting on the tip of his tongue now, and it’s out before Dean has time to swallow it. 

“And he’s gay, right?” 

He expects Cas to laugh and nod, but he’s sitting there blinking in confusion, staring back at Dean peculiarly.

“Uh, no.”

Dean’s cheeks burn with the kind of embarrassment that usually doesn’t find him, but for some reason it has and it’s determined to leave a mark. That’s when Cas starts to laugh, biting down on his lip to hold it in, probably trying to save Dean further mortification. 

“I think someone once called him, quote, the most flamboyant straight-boy to ever live.” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, although he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “He’s just very comfortable with his sexuality,” Cas continues, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“I can see that,” Dean mumbles, and gulps down his beer a little too quickly. 

Apparently this really is a game of 21 questions because Cas is piping up now, leaning forwards as he says, “Have you ever had a boyfriend?” And Dean is _this_ close to making himself look even more ridiculous as he narrowly avoids shooting beer out of his nose. 

“I um—no,” he manages, looking firmly at the table. “Just a few hook-ups, here and there.”

Cas isn’t looking at him any differently, and Dean accepts that maybe those cocktails weren’t the best idea, or that Gabriel spiked them with something weird. So he really can’t be held responsible for what comes out of his mouth next. 

“You ever had a girlfriend?” And it’s not _rude_ , but Dean hates himself for even asking because he really doesn’t give a shit whether he has or not. The question he actually wants to ask is, _are you a virgin_ , but even Dean knows that’s not going to sit well. 

It’s Cas’ turn to colour now, his cheeks becoming pink as he reaches around to scratch the back of his neck. _Cute_ , Dean thinks, because Cas is oddly adorable sometimes and it makes him want to rip the innocence right out of him. 

“Once. Her name was Amelia and she dumped me for Jimmy Novak three days later. Understandable, really, he was smitten with her and I was pretty uninterested as far as boyfriends go.” Cas looks vaguely disappointed for half a second, but not overly concerned at all. “Plans for college?”

“Yeah, uh, I got accepted to UCLA. I think I’m gonna major in engineering.” 

Cas hums quietly, and Dean watches as he absentmindedly circles a finger around the rim of the beer bottle. “You don’t really strike me as a California kind of guy,” he muses, and if he hadn’t looked up Dean would think he was talking to himself. 

“Yeah, I guess not. But Sam, he insists he’s getting into Stanford, and he’s a stubborn little squirt. He’s smart enough to get a full ride, and I don’t think our dad is gonna be much help anyway. So I figure we might as well stick it out together, you know?” The words fly out his mouth quickly, barely leaving time to take a breath as he babbles nervously. Speaking of which, why is he so damn _nervous_? 

“That sounds nice.” It sounds like Cas really means it too. 

“What about you – where are you going?” 

Cas fidgets and looks away, eyes now focusing on their shoes instead. “I actually got accepted to Stanford. I was planning on majoring in anthropology, maybe with a minor in theology too. But, I don’t know if I’m going to take the offer or not.” 

Dean’s eyeballs are near popping out of his skull as he gawps at Cas. “What? Dude, why would you not?” 

Cas sighs; his entire body slumping around a heavy exhale of air. “I had a path that I was happy to follow: take a year out to volunteer in other countries and do charity work, and then I’d have a job lined up here if I want it.” 

“And now?”

“I don’t—” Cas meets Dean’s eye and looks anxious, vulnerable, no walls guarding him whatsoever. “I’m not sure anymore.” 

“Oh.” 

Dean’s chest tightens, his pulse increasing just enough to notice. It’s silly, really, because Cas has only just met him and wouldn’t let Dean influence a decision like that. It’s not just silly – it’s _selfish_ , thinking he could affect someone like that. 

“Indeed.” 

But Cas won’t allow Dean a simple explanation for this change of heart, so he’s pretty much forced to let his mind run free, wilding imagining that maybe Cas wants to choose California after tonight. 

Or maybe it’s just Dean that wants Cas to choose California. 

Cas snaps him out of it though, his voice cutting through the rising noise around them as the Roadhouse fills up with a steady stream of more people. “Have you seen Free Will before?” 

Dean’s chest stops feeling like it’s in a vice, but his gut clenches reflexively. “A few months ago, with Anna, when they played that warehouse show.” 

Dean can visibly see the deep breath that Cas takes, and he winces when Cas’ throat convulses around the amount of beer he’s all of a sudden trying to swallow. He still has no idea what Cas’ beef with Anna is, but he wants to—he needs to. They can’t keep treading on eggshells until one of them snaps again.

There’s an obvious shift in atmosphere, Cas gazing off into the distance to watch the small stage being prepared for what will be a rough show. Cas doesn’t look at him again until the safety barrier has been erected and all the glittery props have been dragged somewhere out of sight.

 

 

**_ Cas _ **

Just as he finally stops comparing himself to Anna, there’s her name again. Cas doesn’t want to feel a pang of intense self-doubt whenever he hears those four letters, but he does. And just because he and Anna aren’t the best of friends anymore, doesn’t mean he’s free of feeling guilty about it. 

He looks away quickly, struck with a memory from some time near the tail end of junior year. He’d been trembling throughout their Latin class, barely able to scrawl down notes, let alone do a vocab test. Balthazar kept asking if he was okay, not believing Cas’ feeble pleads that he was fine. Anna, however, had been side-eyeing him the entire lesson, and as soon as they were out the door she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the girls’ bathroom, shooing out the group of affronted sophomores in there. 

She’d stood there with her back pressed against the door, staring Cas down with a look of plain determination. Cas of course, was fully preparing himself for the heart attack that was going to strike any minute now, while Anna just said, “Out with it, _now_ – and no beating around the bush like you did with Balthazar.” And then Cas sat himself down on the edge of a sink and let his mouth run away from him entirely, telling her how Crowley was getting really pushy about them having sex but he still didn’t want to. Her expression instantly softened and she walked over to stand between Cas’ knees and stroked his hair back like they were kids again, saying, “Don’t you dare do anything you don’t want to, if it doesn’t feel right then tell him it’s not happening, okay?” His throat had been too tight and too dry to say anything, he’d just nodded with his lip caught between his teeth, the shaking from earlier reducing to a faint tingling in his fingers. 

Anna has been good to Cas for much longer than she hasn’t, and surely that means he still has to ‘honour’ their friendship, or whatever. Which probably includes _Do Not Bone Your Best Friend’s Ex_ as rule number one. But do rules of protocol still apply when the friend in question has been painfully distant when she’s not making sure you’re actually getting to class on time? If it was any other ex, Cas wouldn’t think of saying anything other than of course, but this is Dean and apparently he has the power to make Cas incredibly selfish. 

Cas realises he’s been on another planet for the past few minutes, staring dazedly into space while Dean cradled his beer and probably marked out all possible exits. When he looks back at him again though, Dean is craning his neck and squinting at the other bathroom that’s been occupied for most of the night. The door is now open, and the couple coming out are still joined at the mouth as Ellen ushers them away with a roll of her eyes.  On looking more carefully, Cas recognises the two girls to be Ruby – the blonde half of the duo – and the singer of Dean’s band, who were obviously getting to know each other better after acquainting themselves onstage at Chuck’s.  

“That’s our Pamela!” Dean says, his voice filled with pride as he chuckles. 

Pamela has a hand wound into Ruby’s dishevelled hair as she goes in for one more kiss, a chaste touch of their lips. They’re both smirking devilishly as they snake arms around one another and make their way through a crowd that has the Roadhouse overflowing.

“She looks very happy – that smile could probably power an entire town.” Dean turns to Cas and grins equally as wide, making Cas’ heart flutter like he’s some kind of teenage cliché. 

“Pam is why we don’t have a drummer,” he says, and Cas looks at him quizzically. 

“What did she do?” 

“We had a great drummer for a while, she was freaking badass and grew up on classic rock and punk, had been playing since middle school. And then Pam fucked her.”

“And it was… awkward?” 

Dean’s eyes glint with amusement as he brings the bottle to his lips, and Cas watches as they wrap obscenely around the glass, filling his mind with all kinds of R-rated fantasies. 

“She was straight.” 

Cas can’t help but scoff. “I think you mean she wasn’t completely aware she wanted to sleep with girls yet.” 

“Pam’s always said she has the gift of foresight,” Dean shrugs, and as if on cue the happy couple drag a couple of bar stools over to their table. 

They sit next to each other, thighs pressed closely together as they crash Dean and Cas’ almost-date. 

“That was quite the show,” Dean notes, reaching over to push lightly at Pam’s shoulder. 

“You never get any points for half-assing this kind of thing,” she says playfully, winking back at him. 

Ruby has been watching Cas since she sat down, resting her chin on her hands with a treacherous half-smile. Cas looks at her pointedly, trying to silently ask what her problem is, but all she does is mouth _hook-up?_ at him with a devious glow, inclining her head in Dean’s direction . Either that, or it’s a post-coital glow that has yet to wear off. 

Cas doesn’t know how to answer that yet, so he just shakes his head incredulously. 

Ruby’s hand has settled at Pam’s hip now, fingers hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt just so they still have skin touching. Cas is momentarily enthralled by it, wondering how it would feel to have Dean doing the same to him, never wanting to keep his hands to himself. 

“So what have you two love-birds been up to?” Ruby asks, wiggling her eyebrows for emphasis. 

Dean looks vaguely irritated, but answers anyway. “We’re waiting for Free Will to play.”

Pam slams her palms down on the table and looks crazed, eyes wide and lit up as she almost lifts right off of the stool. “FUCK! You heard about that? I didn’t know if it was some shitty rumour or not, but we came anyway. It’s going to be so crazy!” She takes a moment to look around, scanning the immediate area, then says, “And where the fuck is Jo? She’s going to miss the show of the year!” 

Dean smiles knowingly. “She won’t mind, not when she has Sam’s undivided attention and a long drive home.” 

“Your brother is the definition of jailbait,” Pam says as she shakes her head. “Aren’t you worried for his innocence?” 

“He’s fifteen and she’s sixteen, it’s hardly a felony.” Dean shifts awkwardly in his chair, looking around for some miraculous help in this conversation. “Besides, at least it’s Jo and not you.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” Pam cheers, her smile wide and bright as she nips at the skin of Ruby’s shoulder.

Dean catches Cas’ eye and tries to hold the contact, and Cas knows he’s trying to communicate something to him but for the life of him, he doesn’t know what Dean wants to say. It could mean _sorry for bringing up my ex-girlfriend again_ , or _sorry my friend and her latest squeeze don’t seem like they’re leaving anytime soon_ , or simply _maybe we should call it a night._

Cas really hopes it’s one of the first two options.

“So, _angel_ , what’s you name?” Pam asks inquisitively, reaching across the table to flick at the halo Cas had forgotten he was still wearing. 

“Cas.” 

She smiles a wry, sly thing. “So you’re the one Sam and Jo wouldn’t stop harassing me with texts about.” 

Cas barely registers Dean exasperated groan; too busy focusing on the glee that is breaking out across Pam’s face as she extends a hand. Cas simply stares at it for a few seconds, before gripping it in a firm handshake. He’s about to retract his hand when Pam yanks on it suddenly, pulling him forwards abruptly. 

“If you fuck with him I’ll break that pretty little face of yours. So don’t.” Dean swats at her head but Cas isn’t _overtly_ worried; the threat sounds theoretical enough and Cas is only a little bit scared. Mainly because he’s thinking about the damage those long black nails could do to him. 

Truth be told, Cas is sort of jealous actually. 

Cas doesn’t know anything about Dean’s parents, but he certainly has a family in his band mates. A tight-knit bunch that would probably move mountains for him and get into fistfights at his defence, even if he didn’t need them to. He wants something like that: friends that will readily bleed for him despite his protests, friends that won’t react to his problems by mothering him or trying to get him blind drunk, but drive him into the city and make him forget he has problems in the first place. It’s the kind of thing he had a few years ago, before everyone grew up and realised they wanted to do different things. 

He’s slipped into his own world again. He can feel conversation bubbling around him but he has spun a cocoon around himself and everything else is just muffled noise now. And he has almost detached himself from the Roadhouse entirely when he feels Dean’s foot nudging against his own, then Dean clasping his hand lightly under the table, a reassuring smile on his face. 

Cas feels the cocoon start to fall away, and he is more aware of Ruby and Pam talking amongst themselves now, but all he can see is the shy look in Dean’s eyes as he stares back at him. Cas thinks that just maybe, he’s not disposable yet. That Dean wants him to stick around for a while longer, and he doesn’t just need a hit of physical affection to fill a craving.

Cas slips his fingers between Dean’s and squeezes gently, with a new kind of hope.


	4. Free Will & The Diner

**_ Dean _ **

His index finger is still linked with Cas’ as Ruby and Pam make a list of greatest rock bands headed by women, but despite his best efforts and trying to join in, he keeps getting distracted by the faraway look on Cas’ face. Somewhere along the line, a heavy rift has settled between them. Dean kind of wishes Cas would just scream at him again, do anything but sit there with glazed eyes as he clings onto Dean’s finger, as if he thinks he might float away if Dean lets go. 

“Dean—hey are you even listening? Or are we just talking to ourselves here?” Pam asks irritably, but without much bite. Her lips are in a pout and her arms are crossed over her chest as she raises an eyebrow at him. 

Dean tries to blink himself back into motion. “Huh? Uh, what about The Runaways?” 

Ruby rolls her eyes and snatches what’s left of his beer. “That was the first one we said, moron.”

Dean feels a twinge of embarrassment and looks at Pam apologetically, trying to think of something to cover his tracks. “Did you say X-Ray Spex already?” 

Both of their lips curl up into appreciative little smirks as Ruby purrs, “pretty kinky there, stud,” and turns back to Pam.

Dean is still in the process of trying mirror Ruby’s eye roll from before, when Gabriel appears at the only free side of the small table, looking a little bit flustered but very pleased with himself.

“Hey bucko, how are you with setting up stage equipment?” He asks, and Dean jumps up in a flash, not even caring that nobody seems to want to use his actual name anymore. 

“I practically do all the set-up for our band, since _somebody_ can’t be bothered.” He shoots a glare at Pam and she slaps a hand over her mouth in mock horror, but her eyes do nothing to hide the laugh behind it. 

Gabriel is looking at Cas now though, saying, “He’s in a band? You didn’t tell me you hit the jackpot! Shame on you for withholding vital information!” Then he throws a coaster in the general direction of Cas’ face. 

“Don’t you have a job to do, or something?” Cas grumbles as he rubs at his forehead. 

Gabriel snaps his fingers at Dean until he’s trailing behind him to the side of the stage. Gabriel is gone as quickly as he’d appeared after briefing Dean in the vaguest of terms, but most of the equipment is already up and running. All Dean has to do is tune a few guitars and basses, check the drum stands are capable of withholding a vicious beating, and do a general mic check.

Surreal is an understatement.

Dean is practically shitting his pants with excitement as he tests the stuff Free Will are about to use. He’s standing on the stage that his favourite band are about to tear apart, and they are probably less than twenty feet away in the shitty dressing room out back. He tries to stop himself grinning like a total dork, glancing out into the crowd to see a completely new audience from earlier tonight. It’s the pierced and tattooed, the fucked up and the ones ready to fuck shit up, the ones who won’t let punks and skinheads be left behind in the twentieth century. 

It’s crazy, but he wants to tell Anna about it. It’s the sort of thing she would freak out over with him, she’d be in the crowd chewing on her fingernails, praying that Dean wouldn’t trip over a cable or break something. He thinks harder about it, crouched down by the bass drum doing absolutely nothing, and realises that Anna wouldn’t be doing that at all. Maybe if the place hadn’t filled up yet, but not now. If she was here she’d be smack bang in the middle, shouting and cheering and pumping her fist in the air, a string of curses leaving her mouth and she led a cheer for the band to come on. 

Someone from the other side of the barrier calls Dean an asshole and hurls an empty plastic cup at him. He shakes himself back to reality.  

Dean gets himself back into motion and finishes all the connections before slipping offstage again, lights dimming to a black abyss around him. Gabriel claps him on the back when he passes through the hallway connecting the side of the stage and the dressing room, and the guitarist of Free Will nods at him as they cross. 

Dean is about to go into cardiac arrest any time now.

He manages a small smile and a nod in return, then squeezes back into the crowd. Their table is long gone – either everyone has vacated it or it’s been swallowed by the crowd that has become huge, swallowing everything in it’s path. He’s never seen it from this perspective; how a crowd can go from impatiently waiting, surges of people shoving and being shoved before the band is even playing, to a sudden raucous mess of flailing limbs and tight fists and pointed fingers. It’s as though a switch has been flipped, and Dean sees the exact moment the lights truly go out, and every watt of power in the room has resurfaced inside of these people, electrifying them so that they are pogoing and head-butting and gasping for oxygen around the songs they are screaming along to.

Dean is keeping to the edge of this commotion, trying not to get reeled in and completely lost before he can find Cas. He’s looking for him, nerves twisting his stomach into knots as he scans as many faces as he can, and he hopes to god that Cas isn’t up front and centre because he’ll never get to him. And even though he’s pushing through sweat soaked bodies to find him, he finds himself glancing around for a flash of Anna’s red hair. He doesn’t know why, just to exchange a look of how fucking monumental this is. Free Will were still very much under the radar when he first started hooking up with Anna, but they were the kings of the underground scene. Two years ago they were playing the same circuit that Dean is now.  Anna didn’t know them, but she could tell you every single band and song that influenced their sound, who they modelled themselves after and what their messages were, just after one show. 

He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s looking for anymore, or why, but he knows he has to do it, he has to find someone to do this with. 

He sees Cas then. He’s so busy looking for flames of red amongst bobbing heads, that he almost misses Cas’ beige sweater squashed between twenty people wearing black. He works his way through a few more clumps of people until he’s standing ten feet away from Cas, and his excitement levels plummet. 

Cas has escaped the clan of tall skinny boys that he’d tapped between, and now that Dean can see him properly he knows there’s something wrong. He’s not looking for Dean, but more importantly, he’s not looking for anything. He is in the middle of a crowd of strangers, and he should grasping the fabric of their shirts and bouncing off these people like a rocket and screaming the words with a wild flare in his eyes, but he’s not. He is just alone. 

Dean bites his tongue until he gets a taste of blood, and then there’s another kind of bitter taste in his mouth. He knows that look, and it scares him. It’s the look he always had before New York, before Pam and Jo, before Anna, before Cas. When he would go to concerts to feel like he was a part of something – that he wasn’t just a constantly moving piece on a chessboard, but connected to a common cause. It never quite worked, sometimes he’d be there feeling more alone then ever, trying to fit a puzzle piece into a gap of the wrong shape.

Dean hears the bass, the only steady thing in this eruption of chaos, and focuses on getting to Cas. He doesn’t think about the fact that this is the most scared he’s been in a mosh pit, despite the fact that someone once knocked his jaw out of place and punched him near-concussion in a particularly rough pit once. What’s scarier is that he might not make it to Cas, that the crowd will spill out between them and the opportunity will be lost and the show will end and they will end up going their separate ways. He scared about the way Cas is been jostled left, right, and centre but refuses to give everything he’s got in return.

Dean sees Ruby first and she blocks the delicate path between him and Cas, before charging at Dean with a powerful shove. Her grin is something vicious and devilish, and Dean shoves back, knowing she’ll just bounce off someone else. But someone comes at Ruby from the other side at the same time, jolting Dean sideways so that he’s spinning out and stumbling right into Cas. 

There is no smile or laugh from Cas when he sees Dean; he just throws himself back at him and it’s almost a challenge. So they go on like that, caught on the outside of a circle pit and slamming at one another. Dean’s not sure why he does it, but he launches all his weight at Cas just to see what will happen. The impact has him aching all over but Cas is like marble, all resistance and standing tall with the smallest of distances between him and Dean.

Dean has no idea why the fuck they’re doing this, why they’re fighting each other so hard for nothing, when they could be coming together even closer than before. He finds that slither of worry in Cas’ eyes and wishes it away, his hand brushing against Cas’. Somebody’s elbow knocks Dean between the shoulder blades and sends him stumbling forwards again, his fingers wrapping around Cas’ wrist for leverage.

That’s when Dean realises he’s got it all wrong. They’re not trying to lose themselves in a crowd, they’re not trying to blend in and disappear, not anymore. They don’t have to do that because they have each other and they can make this moment theirs. The circle pit has swallowed itself next to them and they’re being squeezed together from all angles, so Dean decides to risk taking it further. 

He spins Cas around to face him again and presses forwards, his hand coming up to grab at Cas’ hair as he pulls him in for a bruising kiss. He just needs to know if Cas still wants it, if this is where they’re going. And he must be at least half-right because Cas is clinging to Dean’s shirt as his mouth pliantly opens, giving way to a clash of teeth and biting lips and teases of tongue. But then Cas is pulling away again, his eyes wide and vulnerable even as he keeps Dean’s body close. 

Dean wants to secure an arm around him, let him know that he’s not going away yet, but then it all spirals downwards from there. There is barely a pause as Free Will burst into the next song, and by some cruel twist of fate it’s the first one Dean had played Anna and he flinches on instinct. He wants to erase it as soon as it happens, but Cas has seen and he withdraws into himself even further. And Dean’s head is a mess because Cas is cutting himself off from him but he can’t even know that it’s not him – that it’s not even Anna – but Dean not being able to cope with so many things happening at once.

He tries to kiss Cas the way he had just now, but something has died and it isn’t coming back to life anytime soon. When he pulls back with a sigh, Cas is frowning and then yelling, “Why did you stop?” 

Dean is starting to feel a little nauseous at this point, and even if he knew how to answer that question he doesn’t think his voice would carry over the deafening noise that consumes the entire room. He shakes his head, incapable of anything else, his vice grip on Cas’ wrist slackening. 

“Come on,” Cas yells again, slipping his wrist out of Dean’s grip, only to thread their fingers together with just as much strength. 

Dean barely knows what’s happening as Cas leads them to the very edge of the crowd, their hands somehow staying locked against the constant barrage of people knocking into them. It reminds him of watching Cas part the crowd at Chuck’s; how he’d done it with a single terrifying look and a boom of his voice. He’s not even ordering people out of his way now, so there must be something awfully frightening about Cas’ determination that allows them to make it out so quickly. It’s by no means painless – Dean’s ribs are throbbing and he’ll probably look like some kind of mutant tomorrow, covered in splotches of purple and blue and red. 

They slip into a small room to the side of the bathrooms, Cas barely letting the door shut before he’s backing Dean up against the wall. There are feathers and tinsel digging into Dean’s neck from behind, and he assumes they’re in some kind of employee changing room, and for someone who’s supposed to be ice-cold frigid this is surprisingly kinky. 

Cas wastes no time in getting back to Dean’s mouth, pressing their lips together with more eagerness than Dean has seen all night from him – or is it just desperation? Dean tries to keep up, so confused by the fact that Cas is aligning his hips against his with a harsh ferocity—a completely different guy to the one that got all flustered from just _dancing_ with him.  

Being in that tiny room feels like standing on the sun. Cas’ hands are trying to touch _everywhere_ and his fingernails are scraping down Dean’s chest as his tongue curls into Dean’s mouth, complete with a sound that is _all_ kinds of hot. Dean tries to regain some semblance of control, biting at Cas’ lips and then his jaw as he slides his hands up the cashmere of Cas’ sweater, fingers slipping on heated skin that is slick with sweat. 

Dean had only hoped for rubbing his hard-on against Cas’ thigh – maybe some fast and dirty rutting – but Cas’ fingers are grazing the skin of his abdomen, following the trail that disappears beneath his jeans before tugging his belt and fly open. Dean’s brain short circuits in the moment that Cas’ hand slips through his boxers and wraps around his dick; his eyes squeezing shut and a choked off sound leaving his mouth. 

He blindly reaches for Cas – hoping to just palm him over his jeans until he can get his neurones functioning again. But when Dean’s hand passes over Cas’ fly, he finds a whole load of nothing – a feeble twitch at most. Dean’s eyes fly open, and he lets out a deflated breath at what he sees. Cas’ expression isn’t devious or wrecked or even flustered – but holds the same kind of determination that he’d used to get them out of the crowd. 

Dean’s heart feels like it might burst out his ribcage at any second, and he pushes Cas away a little more roughly than he means to.

“You’re not even hard,” he says, and he can’t tell whether he sounds bitter or upset or angry. He doesn’t mean to be any of those things – he’s just fucking perplexed. He wants Cas to want this – and he doesn’t. Dean would die to do all sorts of filthy things with Cas, but he can’t when he knows Cas isn’t ready, not really. 

“I—sorry,” Cas mumbles, and he looks away quickly, pulling his sweater up from where it’s become stretched and is hanging over his shoulder. When he looks up again, Dean is struck by how downtrodden he looks, scared even. “Did you see her?” 

At first he doesn’t know who Cas means and he’s about to shake some sense into him, but then he understands. 

“No.” A piece inside of Dean’s brain clicks. “Did you see him?”

Cas is already halfway towards the door now, not even bothering to turn around when Dean calls his name. 

“Yes.”

 

 

**_ Cas _ **

Cas isn’t usually one for lying, but the word is out of his mouth before he can process it. He hadn’t seen Crowley at all, but maybe it’s a good idea if that’s what Dean thinks. Cas had seen Anna though; Gabriel was back on the door again and was reluctant to let her in, but she’s always been good at sweet-talking her way into things. 

Hence dragging Dean into the closest unoccupied room and making a total fool out of himself. Yeah, _that_. Cas is more mortified than ever now—why the hell did he think it would be okay to just shove his hand down Dean’s pants and hope everything would work out? Especially considering his track record. 

He wants to blame Crowley ever so slightly. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if he weren’t constantly reminded that he’s more frigid than fucking Antarctica. Maybe, if Crowley had eased him into the land of sexual encounters a little more delicately, instead of snapping _Not like that—Jesus just watch some bloody porn_ , or _No, Cas, you’re doing it wrong again,_ he wouldn’t have guys shoving him off.

So it’s time to accept that this frigid won’t thaw. And Cas thought that if he could get it to happen with _someone_ , it would be Dean. Crowley was yet to give Cas a boner, but then Dean waltzes into his life and grinds up on him for a few minutes and suddenly Cas is popping one quicker than ever. Even he’ll admit that what just happened in the dressing room was a lot different to their dance earlier tonight.

But Anna had walked in and Cas could never miss that tumble of red hair, and suddenly he felt like he had to prove to Dean that he wasn’t some kind of ice monster like Crowley had let on – that he wouldn’t leave him hanging, that he wanted every single thing Dean had to offer. That first kiss in the mosh pit had been nice – comforting in an angry, painful kind of way. The second was a disaster. If they’d gone on for much longer they might have ended up as some fucked up reincarnation of Sid and Nancy. 

So Cas is ablaze with anger directed at himself and frustration directed at Anna when he moves away from Dean and lies to him. Then he’s swinging the door open and slamming it behind him with a hurricane force, half-pleased and half-guilty at hearing the roar of “ _OW_ , YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” that comes from the other side of the door. 

Cas power walks right out of there until he can see Anna trying to squeeze into the dense part of the crowd. He doesn’t even want to think about how his favourite band has been completely ruined because of his dumb stunt and Dean’s stupid morals. There is hate thrumming through his body, but not one ounce of satisfaction in knowing that he never really hates _anyone_ , not more than himself right now anyway. He goes through the list anyway, just to keep his blood pumping and to stop him from lying down in the gutter and giving up. 

He hates Dean for being Anna’s ex and being the greatest person Cas has ever met all at the same time. He hates Dean for letting Cas kiss him but throwing him off when he seemed to be enjoying an almost-handjob. He hates Anna for never showing him a picture of what Dean looks like, and he hates her for making him feel so insecure all of a sudden. He hates Balthazar for being passed out drunk instead of giving him dubious advice. He hates Free Will for prompting all of this to fall to shit, he hates them for being on Dean’s mix tapes, and he hates them for playing his favourite song when he’s wallowing like this.

No—it was worth a try, but it just makes him feel a hundred times worse. 

He doesn’t hate anyone. 

Cas grabs Anna by the arm and pulls her out, ignoring her yelp of surprise or protests as he leads her outside. The fresh air is a little burst of heaven as they step out onto the street – even if it’s full of plumes of smoke from the people lining the wall of the Roadhouse. Anna shakes her arm free and looks at Cas like he’s grown an extra head. 

“I don’t get it,” Cas says, tiredness hitting him like a truck, and he just wants to curl up in the back of a cab and sleep until he’s home. “Why?”

Anna’s face twists and she slides down the wall to sit on the sidewalk, not caring about the state her jeans will be in when she stands up. “You’re shouting, Cas,” she says softly, waiting for him to sit down next to her.

He hadn’t realised how much his ears are ringing until Anna points out the signs of his loss of hearing. It’s close to 2AM and most of the bars are kicking people out of their ass, girls are crouched on the curb as they wait for a cab to drive by, and there’s a guy slumped over a mailbox on the corner.

“Why Dean?” Cas asks again, knowing Anna needs no elaboration. 

She looks him up and down suspiciously, eyes lingering a second too long on his neck. “Are you on a date with him or something?” Cas expects it to be snappy and intrusive, but the only thing Anna exudes is curiosity. “Do you like him?”

“Yes,” Cas says, because he’s too tired to lie, then quickly changes his mind to, “Not really,” because it still feels like a lie, and then finally, “I don’t know. Yes. Maybe.” 

“Shit, you _love_ him,” she laughs, but there’s a twinkle in her eye that means she’s not kidding. Cas’ glares at her and pushes her shoulder. 

“Shut up.” 

Anna is still laughing away as she regains balance and apologises repeatedly. “I’m fucking starving – you want food?” Cas’ stomach grumbles feebly at the thought, and Anna is rising to her feet and extending a hand out to Cas. 

It feels different. 

It feels like old times when he and Anna were still inseparable and she’d help him get Balthazar home or find him in the first place. The rift that has risen between them seems to have fallen away and Cas wants to be happy but he’s too confused. He takes Anna’s hand and hauls himself up anyway. 

They go to the 24-hour grocery store across the street and squint when the strip lighting threatens to burn their eyes out. Anna heads straight for the back shelves where the cookies are and tosses a bag of Oreos at Cas, keeping another for herself as they slowly move through the aisles. 

“It’s complicated, you know?” Anna says, scowling at the clerk that’s giving them for the stink-eye for eating in the store. The cookies are stale, as usual, but the sense of routine sets Cas at ease more. “I met Dean, and he’s this really awesome guy that isn’t just hot – he’s book smart and street smart but he’ll never own up to it, and he can practically rebuild a car and I’m pretty sure his dad is involved in some shady business, so he has to look after his brother. He’s just so completely different to any of us – but more than that, he’s _good_.”

Cas butts in as soon as Anna pauses to chow down another Oreo. “You had a one night stand with him because of all that?” 

She just smiles wistfully, as if she’s replaying every moment in her head. “No. I kept sleeping with him because of all that. I guess I just really respected him – I still do – and the sex was great. And yeah, it was okay for a while, but I think we both knew that we didn’t have those kinds of feelings for each other. He’d never admit it, but he was lonely. I don’t know, something was missing in his life and he was trying to fill it – and I was trying to do the same – but it just wasn’t working.” 

Anna shrugs and pops another Oreo in her mouth, chewing as she says, “Pretty goddamn profound, right?” 

“I think you broke him,” Cas says quietly. 

“Huh?”

“Breaking up with him like that, out of nowhere.” Anna just snorts.

“I stopped him from becoming _more_ broken. He’s just in shock.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Anna sighs and guides Cas to sit down on the freezer, clearly not caring that his ass will probably get frostbite. “Look, he was in a really shitty place when he met me – _really_ shitty. He was looking for something to keep him afloat for a while and I did that, but then he didn’t seem to realise when he could let go. I was scared that if I didn’t cut it off _he_ never would – and we’d keep trudging through this mutually self-destructive _thing_ , until we hated each other and had to leave for college. So I did the decent thing, and set him loose while he still has his brother and friends right here to remind him he’s okay.”

Cas catches sight of himself in the security mirror behind Anna, and he looks awful. Not that he terribly cares, but it’s just another thing that probably scared Dean off. He can’t imagine that sleepy eyes, increasingly growing stubble, and a bird’s nest of hair are all that appealing. Not to mention that he’s still wearing the halo, albeit rather bent out of shape from the mosh pit. 

Anna’s still talking though, mumbling more to herself than Cas as she says, “It’s kind of like what I had to do with—” she stops herself midsentence and looks around. Cas dwells on it for a few seconds, but it’s forgotten in a swarm of other things he wants to say.

“You should tell him. Just to ease his mind.” Anna rolls her eyes, but Cas knows that it means she’s going to do what he says. For once.

“Hey – you’re wearing his jacket,” Anna notes, and she’s staring with a frown that eventually turns into a small smile. “He never let me wear his jacket. Ever.”

Cas really shouldn’t let himself get excited about that or think about it too deeply, because it will only make forgetting Dean that much harder. He’s already blown it, there’s no time or energy for any more chances. He thinks he’s okay with that now, that maybe someone else is much better suited to bringing Dean into the world of functioning relationships – after all, Cas doesn’t exactly have much experience with that. He tells himself he’s okay with it, but he’s not so sure.

He lets Anna pay for both of their cookies and heads off towards the door while she fumbles with her wallet at the counter. He is ready for bed, for a long shower, for a big greasy breakfast, and for the night to just fucking _end_ already. 

“Anna,” he calls out, hand frozen on the door as she glances back at him quickly. “You really shouldn’t go around dropping people out of the blue, okay?” And her mouth falls open but Cas is out of the door before he can see what follows, and he’s digging around his pocket to work out if he has enough cash for a cab ride home. 

Cas expects to be greeted by the same drunken patrons from before while he flags down a taxi, but instead he sees Dean leaning against a payphone right outside. 

Cas hasn’t even kept track of what he’s been drinking tonight, and he must be drunker than he thinks because he walks straight over to Dean and doesn’t stop until they’re standing toe-to-toe.  He draws a cross on Dean’s chest with one finger, right where his heart should be. Then he cups a hand to Dean’s cheek and leans in close, too close, telling him softly, “You are absolved.”

And he is, because Cas can’t even pretend to hate him anymore, and he doesn’t want Dean to feel responsible for his inability to function as a normal human being. If he’s going to ask Anna to set Dean free from his guilt, then Cas has to do it too.

He walks away as quickly as he’d approached and whistles down a cab, feeling more alone than he has in a long time. 

Dean isn’t getting his jacket back though.

 

 

**_ Dean _ **

Dean watches as Cas hails down a cab and a part of him wants to chase after him, but he can still feel the warmth of Cas’ palm on his cheek and he’s frozen in place. His heart is beating frantically where Cas had just traced a cross there, and he wants to stop Cas from slipping into that car even if it’s just to tell him how fucking _infuriating_ he is. 

Cas is either frozen in time or running at a hundred miles a minute and Dean can’t keep up. Fuck Cas for kissing the hell out of him and not knowing what he wants and for ruining Dean’s favourite band and for dragging him into the clusterfuck that is his life. Fuck Cas for leaving with barely a word and for doing it again now. Fuck Cas for taking his goddamn jacket. 

He wants to blame Cas for everything because that would make things so much easier but he can’t, and he knows they’re both the dysfunctional ones here. Dean didn’t have the words to make him stay and he doesn’t know what he wants anymore and his life is pretty much a big clusterfuck too. He’s got baggage and Cas has baggage and maybe that’s the main thing here, making them diverging lines that are moving further and further apart from each other. 

Dean could write a thousand bittersweet love songs about this, and he could write a thousand more that would be angry and fast and scornful. His head is a jumble of words and phrases and lines of lyrics that won’t bring Cas back to Ludlow. He sits down on the curb feeling dizzy, resting his chin on his drawn up knees as he watches people stumble home from a long night out. 

“Shit, what happened to you?”

For a moment Dean thinks he’s imagined that voice, but when he turns around he sees Anna’s sarcasm dissolve into concern. 

“This is officially some kind of alternate reality,” Dean sighs, because there’s no other explanation for Cas walking away from him and Anna coming back. 

She shakes her head with a laugh and nudges Dean’s shoulder with her knee, before sitting down next to him. “Where’s Cas?”

It’s like rubbing salt in the wound and Dean’s face contorts. “Fuck if I know.” 

“God, why does he always have to run away like that?” Dean could easily mistaken Anna’s worry for irritation, but he’s learnt to tell the difference.

“What’s going on with you two – seriously?” 

Anna’s mouth goes tight and she turns to Dean with a stony look. “It’s none of your business.”

Dean is ready to throw himself in front of the next passing car because here we _fucking_ go again, only Anna has filled in Cas’ position. “Would you two just stop acting like you’re still in diapers, for one goddamn minute? Grow the fuck up!” 

Anna’s glare says he’s treading a fine line now, and even though her looks could kill she could actually beat the hell out of Dean if she wanted to. “Speaking of children, why are you still acting like a lovesick preteen?” She snaps, every word coated with venom as her eyes go dark. “I didn’t love you, you didn’t love me. This is simple – why are you making it complicated?” 

It stings a little to hear her say that, but it’s the slap in the face Dean needs. It’s true; he never loved her and he never wanted anything more than sex in the first place. _Technically_ , she hasn’t done anything wrong. “I just, I don’t understand. It was out of nowhere.” 

Anna groans dramatically and jabs Dean in the chest with a finger, her nails painted the same colour as her hair. “You two assholes are exactly the same – you’re perfect for each other! Or do I just have co-dependent written on my forehead? I _like_ helping people, but I want them to be the best they can be, not use me as a crutch for the rest of their lives.” 

Quite frankly, Dean is lost. 

“What?”

Anna’s hands are raking through her hair now and she shakes her head at the ground in frustration. “You didn’t need me anymore! You thought you did, but you didn’t.” She looks at Dean earnestly now, her hand covering his as she continues. “I wish you could see how wonderful you are in your own right. Both of you.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, because he gets it now – he does – but what exactly do you fucking say to something like that? He can’t put together any kind of response to Anna’s confession, so he just says, “I miss you.” 

Her smile is as bright as it always used to be and she almost glows with it. “Well if you hadn’t been acting like some teen cliché we could have been friends this whole time.” 

Dean laughs for the first time in what feels like an eternity, and the stretch of his face feels strange and too tiring. And he _is_ exhausted – it’s not even that late, somewhere in the early hours, but the night has been nothing short of a marathon.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, bumping his shoulder against Anna’s lightly. “It’s just been hard, I guess. Dad’s barely around anymore and when he is it’s not much better. You were my way of blowing off steam, you know?” She nods and lets her head drop to his shoulder, giving his hand a squeeze. 

There’s a lull in the conversation before Anna speaks again, and Dean half jumps at her voice suddenly breaking the quiet around them. “Do you like him?”

She doesn’t have to say who _he_ is, Dean already knows. “I’m not—” 

“ _Dean_.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbles quietly, his ears heating up as he admits it out loud.

“You need to find him.” 

“How?” Because the last time Dean saw Cas, he was disappearing into a yellow cab and could be headed absolutely anywhere. For all Dean knows he could be going to the airport, trying to get as far away from him as possible. 

“How the fuck should I know? I don’t keep tabs on him anymore – figure it out, buddy.” And with a pat to his shoulder Anna is standing up and crossing the street, going back to the Roadhouse to get back to Free Will. 

He could get up too; start looking for Cas or at least formulate a strategy. But he hasn’t the slightly clue where to even begin, so he stays sitting on the curb, moping quietly as he marks out a song in his head.  It’s about Cas, clearly, but it’s more than that too. It’s about how Cas managed to get inside his head before Dean had any idea who the hell he was. Dean _still_ doesn’t know who Cas is, not really. And he thought that it all started with that too-short, perfect kiss after he’d asked Cas to be his fake boyfriend, but it started before that, when Dean caught him staring from the crowd.

His life is pathetic. He’s practically sitting in the gutter while his favourite band plays their tiniest show in years, just a few feet away from where he’s sulking, and he’s pining over a guy that isn’t coming back. A guy that has his fucking favourite jacket.

Pam chooses a good time to step outside for a cigarette because Dean is about to tail it to the subway and find his car and go home. He doesn’t though, because Pam crosses the street and plants herself down behind him, her legs wrapping around his thighs like an octopus as she lights her cigarette by his head. The smoke curls around them both, and Dean breathes in as much of it as he can just to feel his lungs burn. 

“How come you’re not inside?” He asks, ash dropping to his shoulder before Pam brushes it off. 

“Too hot, I needed a break. You think it’s easy being a rock legend in the making?” She teases, ruffling the top of Dean’s hair with one hand. 

“Where’s Ruby?” 

Pam’s smile presses against the back of Dean’s neck, her breath warm and damp as she huffs out a tiny laugh. “Still inside. She never stops, that girl’s really something else. Enough energy to power a small country in that one.” 

Dean can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, that would be the drugs.” 

“Oh hush, you!” Pam pinches his ear like he’s a kid again and gives him a light smack too. “Where’s your new boyfriend?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend”

“Yeah, okay, _sure_. You guys practically gave me a cavity – I bet you were playing footsie under the table the entire time we were there.” 

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, trying to elbow Pam’s side. “And get down here already.” He pats the sidewalk next to him and waits for Pam to slink around and away from his back, until they’re sitting thigh to thigh on the curb. “How drunk are you?” 

Pam’s grin is, as usual, positively devious, and she places her right hand over her heart and says, “I’m peachy. Now what’s wrong?” 

Dean takes a breath. “He left, without even saying goodbye, and I don’t know why I feel as shit as I do because I barely know the guy and he spent the whole time fucking with my head and I don’t _chase_ people – especially not guys – but I wish I knew where the fuck he went so I could.”

“Who are we talking about?” 

“Cas! Are you even listening?”

“I was _kidding_ , of course I’m listening! Jesus, has anyone told you that you’re being a real brat tonight?” 

Dean scuffs his shoes against the road before gritting out a reluctant, “Yes, actually.” 

Pam looks at him seriously now, but the glimmer of excitement in her eyes impossible to stamp out. “You know what it’s all about, Dean?” 

“What?” 

“It. What _it’s_ all about.” 

“No…” 

Pam grabs his hand and slides their palms together, slotting her fingers between Dean’s. “This,” she smiles, lifting their hands in the air for emphasis. “The Beatles nailed it.”

“God, you _are_ drunk.” 

“Just listen! Other bands, it’s about sex, or pain, or some fantasy. But The Beatles knew what they were doing. ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand.’ First single: freakin’ brilliant, right? It’s because they stripped it down to what everyone wants. Not 24-7 hot wet sex, not a marriage that last a hundred years, not a Porsche or some mansion on the East Coast.” Pam’s smile has spread into an all out grin now and she shakes her head, and she’s leaning in closer and has both of her hands clasped around Dean’s now. “They just wanna hold your hand, they have such a feeling that _they can’t hide_.” 

“I Want To Hold Your Hand?” Dean repeats sceptically. 

“Trust me on this. Every single successful love story has those perfect moments of handholding. I discovered it while I was stoned, but once I sobered up I realised it’s still very true.” 

 “ _Fuck_ , I think I blew it with Cas.” He knows because their last handholding moment was nowhere close to perfect. 

“Well what are you going to do about it?” 

“Get blindingly drunk until I pass out on Jo’s couch?” It’s a possible option, and probably the most likely at this point. 

Clearly Pam has other ideas, judging by the firm punch she lands on Dean’s bicep. “Get off your ass and start looking for him.”

As if on cue, Ruby appears at the door of the Roadhouse, her leather jacket gone and her tank top hanging off one shoulder. She whistles at Pam, fingers in her mouth like Cas had done back at Chuck’s, but she stays on the other side of the street while she waits. 

Dean stands up and extends a hand out for Pam to pull herself up with. “You gonna hold her hand?” He asks with a smirk. 

“Hell, yeah,” she says, swatting her backside free of bits of gravel and dirt. “I mean we’re totally gonna get down and dirty too, but I think we can incorporate holding hands into it.” Pam winks and practically skips across the street, and her crazy theory proves itself right because Ruby holds out a hand to her, without having heard any of their conversation before. 

Dean chuckles to himself because _only Pamela_ , and he figures he should check his messages in case Jo or Sam called, only to realise that his phone is in his jacket pocket. Which is with Cas. He considers chasing after Pam to hijack hers, but she’s long gone and there’s some change jangling in his jeans that should suffice. The worst part is actually touching the damn payphone, and Dean tries not think about whose hands have been there and what they might have touched prior to making a call. He gingerly picks up the receiver with as few fingers as he can manage, and dials his own number.

“What?” 

It’s Cas’ gruff voice on the other side, and Dean can almost picture him crossing his arms and glaring at the air in front of him. He doesn’t realise that he’s smiling to himself until Cas repeats the question. 

“Is Dean there?” 

“No,” he mutters hurriedly. “He’s probably busy fighting off other monsters, but you can call back for his voicemail.” 

Dean is grinning again, so much so that his cheeks ache and his chest feels tight. It’s like skipping back to all the good parts with Cas, easy conversation without the tense atmosphere or distractions or complications. 

“Could you take a message?” Dean asks quickly, before Cas decides to hang up on him. 

“If I need a pen you’re shit out of luck.”

“It’s—no, it’s short. Could you just tell Dean that he’s a fucking idiot for not going after Cas when he got in that cab?” All he hears is Cas’ sudden intake of breath on the other line, saying nothing for a few unbearable seconds. 

“Who is this?” 

“And let him know that I’m really glad he’s broken out of that stupid walking coma he was in after breaking up with Anna.” 

“Is this a joke?” Cas asks quietly, a little less angry and a lot more apprehensive. 

“And that it’s pretty pathetic to be sitting on the sidewalk writing a song for a guy if you don’t even have the balls to try talking to him again.” 

“Is that really you? Are you being serious?” 

“Where are you?” 

“The diner opposite Chuck’s. Where are you?” 

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll be at the diner soon. So, uh, could you pass on that message for me?”

 

 

**_ Cas _ **

Dean has just hung up on him and Cas is forced to believe that this is all some exhaustion-induced hallucination. It must have been a dream – anything else would be impossible – especially with Dean’s voice sounding so wonderful and practically music to his ears. Cas chides himself for getting so perked up by one phone call and goes to the bathroom to dowse his face in water to wake the fuck up. 

When he gets back to his booth in the corner, the entire table is practically covered in food: three burgers, a basket of French fries and a basket of cheese fries, a bowl of onion rings, a side of mac and cheese, and an obnoxious milkshake. On second thoughts, he should probably start inhaling coffee before Dean shows up.

Cas has gotten through two burgers, a portion of fries and copious amounts of black coffee filled with mountains of sugar by the time Dean shows up. Somehow he still doesn’t expect it, and he swallows around the lump in his throat when Dean walks through the door and scans the diner, eyes landing on Cas squashed in the farthest corner. Dean’s mouth twitches a little, not quite a smile, but it’s something, and he slides into the booth without a word. He goes straight for the coffee that the waitress just refilled, immediately grimacing when the sweetness hits him. 

“How much food does one guy eat?” He asks around a dramatic swallow, then picks up a handful of fries and practically shovels them into his mouth. “’You are absolved’? What the fuck does that even mean?” Before Cas looks up he assumes Dean is irritated as hell, but then he sees the amused glimmer in his eyes 

Cas doesn’t really know how to answer that without sounding ridiculous, so he buys some time by starting on the next burger, taking a mammoth bite out of it. “I just don’t expect you to try and carry my baggage – that’s all. This whole thing has been ridiculous and I was definitely an ass and I don’t want you to think you have to be chivalrous about it, or try not to hurt my feelings. I mean we don’t even know each other, we’ve never been introduced—” 

“Hi,” Dean cuts in, pausing to gulp down half of Cas’ coffee. “I live in a shitty apartment with my dad and my brother and this is the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place. Free Will were my favourite band until tonight. I write songs that mostly don’t see the light of day. What about you?” 

“I’m Castiel—” he starts, before amending it straight away. “Cas. I’m from Greenwich, I go to some pretentious Catholic school and I have no idea what my future is anymore. Free Will were also my favourite band until tonight, and I like songs that other people have written.” 

Dean grabs Cas’ hand, both of their fingers slippery with grease as Dean pulls him into a handshake, saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cas.” 

“Um, you too?” 

“Can I have my jacket back?” 

“No.” 

Dean raises an eyebrow and he looks as though he might laugh, but he just stares at Cas raptly instead. Cas doesn’t even know why he said it; he’s not trying to flirt because he wouldn’t know where to begin, but he thinks he deserves some kind of compensation for the rejection he faced earlier. Also because the jacket is hiding the fact that his sweater is ruined from the show and refuses to stay up. 

“Why not?” 

“Because whenever you’re cold you’ll think of that time you gave your favourite jacket to some stranger just because you wanted to get in his pants, and you’ll remember never to be so foolish again.” 

Dean presses his lips together, looking down into a very interesting bowl of onion rings, before saying, “It was more than that.” 

“What?” 

“This. All of it. I don’t just want to get in your pants. I want more.” He looks up at Cas again, his tongue coming out to wet his lips nervously as Cas is at a loss for words. 

“Oh.”

“Yep.” 

“I—that sounds—good,” Cas nods eventually, and he stuffs a few fires in his mouth before he can say something to ruin the comfortable atmosphere they’ve fallen back into to. 

“You’ve got a little—” Dean hesitates before stretching over the table, gingerly swiping the pad of his thumb over the corner of Cas’ mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he wipes his hand on a napkin; but he’s still half out of his seat and staring at Cas’ parted lips. 

Cas can’t stop watching the way Dean’s eyelashes fan out onto his cheeks, and he’s not even a hundred per cent sure he knows he’s speaking out loud when he says, “You’re not a total stranger, actually.” Dean snaps to attention at that, and falls back to his side of the booth. 

“What?” 

And now that Cas has mentioned it he can’t play it cool or say something insightful to cover his tracks, because he’s a horrible liar and his brain can barely function at this time of night—or morning?

“I um, I feel like I already know you through Anna; your mixes and your lyrics and really bad jokes.”

“My mixes?” Dean asks, still looking like a fish out of water, before realisation dawns on him and he slumps further into the booth sheepishly. “Oh, okay. You saw those.” He looks up again, cheeks only slightly pink when he says, “What did you think of them?” 

Cas’ smile catches him by surprise because Dean is actually interested in his opinion of them – completely oblivious to the fact that Cas would know next to nothing about most music if it weren’t for those tapes. It’s not that he didn’t like music before– he did. He liked music that relaxed him down to the bones and could replicate the feeling of waking up to birdsong and a fresh breeze coming through the window – symphony orchestras and film scores and instrumentals. But Dean’s influence made music a part of his soul – always thinking about some lyric that really resonated or that riff which made the hair on his arms stand on end. His personal blend of music made Cas get fucking angry at the world, then fall in love with it all over again. It made him rethink every damn thing his family ever told him, and made the frustration sound like art. It made his ears pound and his heart race and his limbs restless as he listened to lyrics about fucking the system or fucking a drag queen, driving down the highway or driving your parents insane, loving sex or loving love. 

He can’t even begin to explain all of that though, so Cas keeps it close to his chest and simply says, “I liked them a lot.” Dean doesn’t say anything, still looking like he’s processing this cross of events, so Cas continues to dig himself into a hole. “It’s like this: Anna and Balthazar and I were all best friends, and every day she would have some anecdote to tell about something hilarious you said, or this really cool band you showed her. And it did feel like I knew you – but at the same time you were still this enigma, this not-quite tangible being. But I thought there might be something interesting about you – I knew there was. So when I kissed you and found out who you were, I just couldn’t leave it alone. It’s not that I go around chasing really complicated guys around the city every weekend.”

He fully expects Dean to bolt out of the diner any moment now, but he stays seated, not even looking overtly freaked out or uncomfortable; just trying to _understand_.  And Cas thinks Dean is going ask him why he never mentioned it until now, but Dean asks him a different question all together. 

“Why did you leave?” 

And Cas wants to say _which time?_ Because he’s lost count of each occasion he turned away from Dean and left him there. He can’t answer that because it’s just a thing that he does – and he knows that it is infuriating and that generally, when they just talk things out everything gets better, but he’s never been a fan of conflict involving people that could _really_ hurt him. So Cas skirts the question a little and taps his halo, saying, “I had angel business to attend to.” Dean looks at him dubiously but doesn’t question it. “Where are your friends?” 

“Pam left with Ruby. They’re getting to know each other better.” Dean flicks an onion ring at Cas when his face twists up in confusion. “In the Biblical sense.” Then he grabs Cas’ milkshake and devours that too. “Jo and Sam should have your friend home by now, so they’re probably back at my place.” 

Cas almost wants to ask where that leaves them; alone in the city at some ridiculous hour in the morning; their friends either paired up or tucked into bed. He doesn’t though, because he’s come to learn what makes a situation awkward and what kills it completely. He’s learning that not knowing might be okay, that he doesn’t and can’t have the reassurance that it won’t all fall apart, that he needs to just trust Dean.  

He’s probably staring into space again, and he’s holding a mug of coffee to his mouth but still hasn’t made a move to drink it. Dean’s foot nudges his, jolting Cas back to the diner and back to Dean and back to the quickly disappearing mountain of food between them. He apologises quickly and smiles, just the upturn of his lips, because he feels like maybe he could do this forever; have Dean tug him back down to Earth when he’s getting flighty. 

“When’s your curfew?” Dean asks, sliding one leg between Cas’ so they can both stretch out, and Cas is painfully aware of the now constant point of contact between them. 

“I don’t have one.” 

“Good—that’s good. We still have time for stuff then.” Dean tries to sound nonchalant about it, but there’s no hiding the slip of excitement in his voice, fumbling all over his words and unable to stop grinning. 

“What kind of _stuff_?” Cas asks with a bump to Dean’s calf, and he drinks in the gentle flush of Dean’s cheeks when he laughs nervously. 

“I don’t know. Whatever you want—I mean it, we can do anything.” 

“Anything?” Dean nods, saying something unintelligible around a mouthful of the remains of Cas’ last burger. “Are you even real?” Cas asks, and Dean’s grin manages to defy the boundaries of human anatomy, stretching across cheeks that are puffed out like hamsters from too much food. Cas pinches his thigh just to make sure, and Dean jumps a foot in the air. 

“What was that for?” He whines once he’s settled back down has stopped choking on the burger. 

“Just checking that I didn’t pass out three hours ago and you’re a figment of my imagination.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and leans back over the table again, and for a millisecond Cas thinks Dean is about to kiss him, but all he gets is a flick to the forehead. It’s nice though, the two of them isolated in this far corner of an empty diner, nothing but their laughter and crackly Dylan records in the background filling the air. And Cas is so close to just yanking Dean forwards by the front of his shirt, kissing him then and there because he wants to erase the memory of their last kiss and replace it with something beautiful, but the moment is gone. 

Anna stands over their table with her arms folded and an eyebrow raised, and Cas thinks she’s been there longer than they realise because she clears her throat and does look a little embarrassed, before saying, “I need to talk to you, it’s important.” She glides away into the ladies room then, and Cas doesn’t need to ask to know that request was directed at him. 

Cas stands up and hesitates before leaving, then turns to Dean and points a finger at him sternly. “Don’t eat all the cheese fries. I will literally smite you if I come back and they’re gone.” 

Dean agrees reluctantly and Cas disappears into the bathroom, walking into to see Anna sitting on the edge of a sink. They’ve had many important conversations in this very bathroom, because even though this diner is Cas’ sacred safe place, it always used to be where a night with Anna and Balthazar would slow to an end. Burgers and coffee to wake up and sober up before heading home, leaning into each other in the booths and trying not to fall asleep on the spot with their arms and legs tangled around each other. 

“What are you doing here?” Cas asks, because Anna hasn’t showed up at this place in months. It’s been reduced to the place where Cas eats as many burgers as he can afford while Balthazar snores in his lap. 

“You’re very predictable, do you know that? I just need to borrow some money, and don’t tell me you spent it all because your dad would never let you leave the house without an emergency stash.” 

“Why should I give you money?” 

“Jesus Christ, I just need a strong coffee and a cab back home. Are you really so fucking cold that you’re going to deny me that?” She groans, and she doesn’t sound vicious or accusing at all, just frustrated and tired and a little emotional. 

Cas digs his hands into his pockets and comes up mostly empty, a few coins and a stick of gum resting in his outstretched palm. Anna snorts and reaches around to stick a hand into the front pockets he never uses, pulling out a crumbled wad of cash. Cas thought he’d used his emergency money on the feast he just ordered, and the pricey cab fare that came from being unable to decide where to go from Ludlow Street. He’d entirely forgotten about the money Sam forced upon him to take Dean out, so he lets Anna keep it because he doesn’t want to feel like he’s being paid to stay with Dean. 

“Thanks, I’ll pay you back on Monday,” she mumbles, shoving the money into her own pocket while she hops off the sink. She looks like she’s in a hurry to get out of there, so Cas gets straight to asking what’s been bothering him for a while, blurting it out before he can change his mind. 

“You said something earlier, when we were at the store, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I just, I need to know what you meant by it.” 

 “What?” She doesn’t look at him, but she sounds guarded, like she’s already putting on armour for a question she doesn’t know. 

“You were talking about Dean – about letting go of him for his own good – and you said you had to do that with someone else too. But I don’t remember anyone else and I need to know if you meant me.” 

Anna stills and when she turns to face Cas, she looks sad but not surprised. “I did.” 

“Why?” Cas asks quietly, afraid to hear the answer. 

Anna sighs and bends over the sink, running the tap to splash cold water on her face. When she’s done, there are small water droplets tumbling down from her temple, her eyelashes clumping together and makeup dark and smudged as she blinks. 

“Don’t you know that if you love a bird you let it fly away?” She laughs, but the sound makes Cas cringe because he still doesn’t understand. 

“Am I the bird or are you?” 

“We’re both birds, don’t you get it?” 

“No.” 

“I needed the space to find myself – you know better than anyone that I was pretending to be someone else because of other people’s expectations. It was just something I had to do alone, and it was better to have you angry with me than watch you become some brainless clone, just because we were attached at the hip.” She reaches for his hand and covers it gently, but Cas snatches it away and stares at her with wide eyes, even as her words start to sink in. 

“I’m not your fucking clone,” Cas says fiercely through gritted teeth, but he regrets it as soon as he sees a flash of hurt across Anna’s face. He spins around on his heel and paces the length of the bathroom, gesticulating wildly as he speaks again. “I needed you – and you just ran out on me!” 

“Cas, that was part of the problem.” Cas stares back at Anna, a frown still set in his forehead as he starts to make sense of what she’s saying. “I can’t hold your hand through every bump in the road. And look at you – you’re a total hard-ass now and you can take care of yourself!” She smiles twitchily, as if she’s not sure whether she’s allowed to yet. 

Cas nods though, slowly at first, but he thinks he gets it now. It’s as if some great mystery has been solved and now he can finally see the full picture. He understands what Anna had tried to do – and to her credit it ended up working – but he’s still a little vexed over how she went about it. “You’re right, I think.” 

“You don’t still hate me, do you?” She asks softly, and Cas sighs heavily before coming to perch on the sink next to her. 

“I never hated you, Anna. I couldn’t.” He wraps an arm around her and squeezes her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Can I ask you something?” 

“What?” 

“Am I really frigid?” 

She scoffs and pats his knee as she shakes her head. “Of course you’re not frigid. Don’t believe all that crap Crowley lays on you. Come on – he’s manipulative slime.” Cas grunts in agreement, but it still doesn’t make him feel any more confident about it. As if Anna can read his mind, she says, “I saw you kissing Dean earlier tonight, and you looked like you were doing more than fine.” 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

She jumps down from the sink and pulls Cas down after her, moving to stand right in front of him. “I’m going to help you out and you’re going to promise not to get weird about it, okay?” 

“What—” 

Cas’ sentence goes unfinished because Anna is pinning his wrists to the sink with some kind of iron force as she presses their lips together. Cas is paralysed with shock, his lips only barely parted, but Anna just kisses him chastely, moving from his top lip to the bottom, before she pulls away and says, “Start out slow, build it up.” Then her hipbones are pressing against Cas’ and their chests are touching, one hand moving to the small of his back. “Open up your chakras, create points of close contact.”

Cas stays still, his mouth open, not sure whether this impromptu lesson is over or not. Apparently it’s still going though, because Anna leans in again and swipes her tongue across Cas’ lip, and then leaves a few gentle bites. “Just use your instinct. Bite, lick, suck – whatever feels right in the moment.”

“I—thanks?” Cas’ voice cracks awkwardly in the middle of the word and Anna gives him a friendly pat on the cheek before pushing away from him. 

“If you forget everything I’ve said tonight, remember this: you are not the one-night-stand types. Not when you’re together. Don’t rush anything, don’t freak out and bolt.” 

Anna’s smile is warmer than it’s been in a long time, and after straightening out her shirt she’s out the door again. Cas follows soon after, and as he walks back to the booth he catches the tail end of Anna and Dean’s conversation before she scurries out of the diner. 

“I knew you’d find him! God, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Cas slips back into the booth, still feeling a little dazed and confused. He doesn’t even notice that he’s sitting on the opposite side, right next to Dean, until he hears him say, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Cas says, finally shaking himself back into normality again. “She just needed some money.” 

“And you gave it to her?” Dean asks dubiously, because he just missed that whole conversation and is probably confused as hell right now. 

“Sure,” Cas shrugs. “Look, you should know that what you saw of me and Anna tonight – that’s not us. We’ve had a turbulent rough patch, but I think we understand each other more now. We’re different in a lot of ways, but at the same time we’re not.” 

Dean nods slowly, fiddling with one of the napkins from the table. Cas catches a glimpse of pen on it, but he can’t read the scrawled writing from where it’s folded between Dean’s fingers, ink bleeding into the paper. 

“Let’s talk about something else. I probably don’t want to know what Anna said to you, but she’s not here, and she’s been the centre of most of the night already. I want—” Dean takes in a deep breath as he stutters mid-sentence, then looks at Cas tentatively “I want this to be about me and you.” 

“Okay.” Cas suddenly feels slightly dizzy, and he needs to be back outside in the open air, where he can gulp down oxygen infused with exhaust fumes every time Dean says something like that. “That sounds good.” 

Dean is moving closer, about to say something else, when Cas’ phone starts vibrating in his pocket and jerks him an inch sideways. “It’s Balthazar,” he mutters to himself as he squints at the screen. He’s a fraction of a second away from answering it when Dean’s touches his wrist and he quietly says, “Don’t.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t answer it.”

The phone continues to periodically vibrate in Cas’ hand, a ridiculous photo that Balthazar took of himself lighting up the screen, and Cas just continues to stare at it. “What if it’s an emergency? He was _incredibly_ drunk when I handed him over.”

Dean’s fingers tap Cas’ wrist once and glide down the length of his forearm that’s exposed from the pushed up sleeves of his jacket, eliciting a weak shudder from Cas. “He’ll call back and then you should answer. It’s probably nothing – Sam or Jo would have called if something was wrong.” Cas looks from Dean to the phone again. “I want to go somewhere. Take a drive.” 

“A drive?” 

The phone keeps vibrating and Cas lays it down on the table, the sound echoing off it angrily. 

“Yeah. You and me, we can get out of the city a little bit. I want to talk to you.” 

“It’s four in the morning.” 

“Exactly, the night’s almost over.” 

Cas can’t help but roll his eyes because by all counts the night _should_ be over already; the sky is starting to lighten to the deep cobalt blue that follows darkness, and the stars are fading behind it. His phone stops vibrating. 

Cas turns to Dean, and he must look uneasy because Dean’s face falls as he says, “How ‘bout it? Come on.” 

Cas ducks his head as he feels a smile coming on. “Where do you have in mind?” 

Dean laughs and his relief is evident, the air leaving him in a rush. “I have no idea.”

“Somewhere nobody we know will find us.” And with that, Cas is grabbing Dean by the arm and pulling him out of the booth behind him.


	5. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you've all been waiting for the porn.  
> (also Norah's speech about the world was too beautiful to leave out shhh)

**_ Dean _ **

They’re sitting in the Impala in the parking lot of some warehouse, away from the maze of towering buildings and yellow taxicabs prowling every street. The engine is still running so as not to cut off the tape Cas had slipped into the player a little while ago. There is nothing but the soft wailing of Jeff Buckley filling the silence that has gradually, though not uncomfortably, crept up around them.

They’ve talked about a lot since leaving the diner to track down Dean’s car, before driving out and leaving some of the city behind. They’ve exchanged favourite songs – Dean no longer feels greedy about having two, because Cas has about fifteen – and favourite albums, Bowie’s greatest era and Floyd’s worst. Dean is going to smack Cas later for that Metallica comment, and judging by the look Cas gave him after his little jibe at The Cure, he should be expecting one too. 

“This one’s my favourite mix,” Cas says softly, as if he’s floated away into a little dreamland and doesn’t want to disturb anything. At some point he’d scooted across the seat to sit closer to Dean, probably about the time he’d snatched the little box of cassettes from him. Their knees are touching and it would only take one movement to lean in press a kiss to his neck. 

The sun is starting to come up now, streaks of pink breaking through the blue and lighting up the clouds, and it basks Cas in some kind of godlike glow, his face framed faintly in orange like a halo. His eyes are tired and Dean watches as he keeps blinking sleep away, humming quietly under his breath as he taps a finger in time to the beat on his thigh.  

“How did you fall into my life?” Dean breathes, the filter between his brain and mouth totally switched off by now. Cas just looks at him with a little confused frown that relaxes when he sees the smile on Dean’s face. 

“What?” 

“It just—you don’t seem real. That’s all. Tonight doesn’t feel real.” Dean expects Cas to nod and agree with him, to say something reflective that makes him feel like an idiot, but what Cas does next isn’t even a possibility that has run through his mind. 

Cas shifts to face Dean and kisses him. It’s a gentle touch of lips, quick in execution but unhurried as their mouths begin to move together. Cas has one hand on his jaw and the other on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles into the base of Dean’s neck as he makes a happy sound against his mouth. 

Cas pulls away, leaving a paper-thin space of air between them. “Is this real enough?” He whispers, and Dean knows that this kiss is important, more so than any other they’ve shared, because this is like a first kiss all over again, cautious and testing – but sublime underneath the rising sun. 

Dean pushes forwards again, catching Cas’ lips in something rougher and full of intent. He grasps at Cas, trying to pull him closer as he nips at his lip and relishes the sigh it draws from him. Cas is kneeling on the seat with one leg slung over Dean’s thigh as he slides his tongue into Cas’ mouth cautiously. There is no protest, but Dean still goes achingly slow for both of their sakes, only licking at the tip of Cas’ tongue and the backs of his teeth as Cas makes an impatient noise and grapples at him. He barely has time to think before Cas is hauling himself into Dean’s lap and straddling him, his hands pressed flat against Dean’s chest as his tongue sweeps across the roof of his mouth. 

Dean physically shudders at that and buries his face in Cas’ neck for a moment, trying to keep it together as Cas rocks against him, half hard in his black skinny jeans and breathing heavily. “ _Fuck_ , some angel you are,” Dean chuckles breathlessly, before mouthing and biting at the length of Cas’ neck, marking an entire trail down to his collar bone, just like he’d wanted to back at the Roadhouse. When he bites down of the jut of bone, Cas throws his head back and his back arches in a sudden jolt as he pulls Dean back with him, leaning against the steering wheel until the horn goes off. 

Cas flinches again, eyes flying open at the intrusive sound, and he looks like a whole mess of nerves and shock, although wonderfully debauched as well.  “This is very… inconvenient,” he says with a shaky voice, and Dean nods thoughtfully. He already has a few ideas brewing, all of which require a change of location. 

“Backseat?” 

Cas eyes him suspiciously before wriggling off of Dean’s lap and climbing over the front bench to sit in the back. He backs up against the door, one leg hanging off the seat and the other bent at the knee, an open invitation. Dean doesn’t trust himself to follow Cas and _not_ end up sprawled on top him in the least attractive way, so he quickly goes around the old fashioned way, slamming the doors shut behind him. 

As soon as Dean is safely in the backseat he crawls over to slot between Cas’ thighs, slipping his hands underneath Cas’ sweater to rub at his sides as he returns to Cas’ mouth, kissing him languidly but nothing short of thorough. Cas is making all sorts of breathy sounds below him as he claws at Dean’s multiple layers, yanking the plaid shirt down his shoulders as if it personally offends him. Then he’s tugging Dean’s t-shirt and henley up until it bunches under his armpits, and he’s forced to sit back on his haunches and remove them completely. 

Cas’ face practically lights up, and Dean really hopes he’s not blushing. But he feels almost like he’s being worshipped, because there’s a special kind of glitter in Cas’ eyes as he stares at Dean’s skin with total reverence. He’s leaning up to meet Dean then, his mouth going straight for Dean’s throat and every single inch of skin from there until his navel. His stubble has come through significantly since they first met, and Dean is sure the scratchy rub of Cas’ jaw is going to leave him raw with beard-burn, but he can’t pretend he won’t enjoy it.

When Cas pulls away again, his lips puffy and reddened, Dean wastes no time in stripping him out of the sweater – the very one he’s been wanting to rip off Cas _all_ _night_ – and he’s mumbling, _can I?_ with his fingers poised over Cas’ belt buckle. He takes Cas’ lift of hips to be a yes, and pries his belt open before doing the same to his jeans, peeling them down Cas’ thighs and wrestling them off his ankles with a stifled laugh. 

Once they’re off, Cas is fiddling with Dean’s own belt, slipping the leather through the buckle and easing the zipper of his jeans down carefully. His lip is caught between his teeth as his hands rest at the elastic of Dean’s underwear, _uncertain_. 

“We don’t—we don’t have to do this,” Dean says, even though he’s rock hard and it’s a struggle just to get the words out. He loosens his grip on Cas’ hip to stroke the skin there soothingly, deliberately not looking at the outline of Cas’ erection that pushes the waistband of his underwear forwards. 

He almost misses it, the way Cas quietly says, _I want to_ , before pulling down Dean’s jeans and underwear at the same time, a determined look on his face that is quickly replaced by something similar to awe. Dean gets out of his clothes completely, letting them fall to the footwell as Cas continues to stare, and just like that all of his usual bravado is gone and he can barely pluck up the courage to face Cas again. 

“What?” He croaks eventually, Cas fingers ghosting over his thighs and following the trail of hair just below his navel, touching him as though Dean is some kind of sacred being. 

Cas swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the force of it. “Nothing—just, you’re wonderful.” And Dean feels ridiculous for blushing under his steady gaze, eyes raking over _every_ inch of him. 

Dean’s hands are _not_ shaking as he tugs down Cas’ underwear, and he takes back every thought from the past minute because he is definitely a hypocrite. He needs a moment to drink in the sight of Cas spread out across the black leather, gloriously naked and all golden skin stretched over lithe muscles, his chest flushed just as much as his face, hipbones jutting out to frame his cock curving up against his stomach. 

Cas is almost like a deity in that moment, with the sun streaming in through the windows and illuminating him in shades of and pink and yellow. It should not be possible, Dean thinks, for any human being to look quite as beautiful as Cas does right now.

Clearly Cas doesn’t share the same sentiment anymore though, because he’s clutching at Dean’s back, thighs tightening around him. “ _Dean_ , touch me or something, _come on_.” And Cas is reeling him in, pulling him down so that they’re chest to chest and aligned at the hips. 

“Wait one second,” Dean mutters through gritted teeth, because there is not a single layer of material separating them now, just a hot expanse of skin on skin that threatens to have Dean coming _way_ too soon. He reaches out to dig his hand under the front seat, Cas whining impatiently as he rummages around frantically. Somehow, by the grace of God, Dean manages to get a hold on the little bottle of lube that he keeps stashed there for emergencies such as this. And he is glad – _so fucking glad_ – for it when he finally wraps a hand around both of them and coats them in it. 

Rutting against Cas dry would have been all sorts of mind blowing – rough and just on the right side of painful – but what they’ve got going now, is even better. Their bodies are coiled tightly around each other as Dean rolls his hips down, their cocks rubbing together with a slippery ease, hot and slick as Cas bucks up to meet Dean’s movements. Cas is muffling his moans in Dean’s neck, lips wet and open as his sounds get lost in skin, but Dean will have none of that. He shifts to bite at the underside of Cas’ jaw, teeth sinking in before Cas can realise and suddenly his head is tipped back and his throat bared. 

People say that good music is like porn to the ears, but the sounds that Cas is making are halfway between the two. Dean grinds into him harder, forcing out a string of low groans and whimpers that fill the car. There’s sweat sticking them together, gluing them to the seats, and somewhere behind the haze that is clouding his mind Dean manages to find Cas’ lips again, and it’s all open mouths and banging teeth and sliding tongues as they share each other’s moans. 

Even now, Dean can barely keep his trap shut though, and he finds himself mumbling filth into Cas’ ear, teeth grazing his earlobe as he drawls, “I wanna fuck you so much, _fuck_ , bet I could bend you in half.” It’s all talk, because Dean can feel the heat spreading fast through his abdomen and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to fuck Cas tonight. Not that Cas seems to mind all that much though, his hips stuttering in rhythm as he digs his heels into the dip of Dean’s spine, bringing him impossibly closer. 

“Dean, I can’t—” Cas gasps, and his nails are dragging up the span of Dean’s back and digging in at his shoulders as he shudders, a choked off sound leaving his mouth. Dean barely keeps it together as he watches Cas’ eyes roll back before they fly wide open, his hips arching off the seat as he comes between them. Dean doesn’t even try to hold on after that, following Cas after a few more short thrusts, and when a groan is practically ripped from his lungs Dean actually fears that he may black out for a second. 

He narrowly avoids it, collapsing on top of Cas when his limbs turn to jelly and give out. Cas barely seems to notice though, just humming in contentment and running his hands through Dean’s hair, where his face is pressed against his chest. 

“That was—” Cas starts, his voice beautifully raspy. 

“I know.” 

“Like actually perfect.” 

Dean lifts his head to smirk at Cas, but he sees his sheepish half-smile and stops. “Was that your first—” 

“Yeah,” Cas says, quickly trying to hide his face in Dean’s arm when he doesn’t say anything. 

“Hey, wait –” Dean sits up on his knees and pulls Cas up after him, cradling his face in both hands so that Cas doesn’t have a choice but to look at him. “I don’t care, I mean it’s pretty cool for me, actually.” Cas makes an indignant noise but Dean shushes it away, kissing him gently.

The clouds have thinned out when Cas flops back down, the sky not quite a pale blue as Cas’ eyelids flutter closed. He looks as though he might actually fall asleep there, so Dean grabs his t-shirt from the floor and wipes them both down. Cas hasn’t passed out quite yet, because the next thing Dean hears is a sudden groan from him – and not the kind they were both making earlier. 

“I was supposed to call my dad if I didn’t come home,” he says blearily, and Dean sits down next to him, taking Cas’ calves into his lap. “I can see the headlines now: ‘CEO’S SON MISSING. FOUND NAKED AND ALMOST HUNGOVER IN THE BACK OF MIDWESTERN BASSIST’S CAR. “ _And we thought he was such a nice Catholic boy,” says the shocked and appalled community._ ”’ Cas flings an arm over his face and shakes his head. 

“Do you really believe in all that stuff?” 

“What stuff?” 

“You know… god, angels, the devil.” Cas moves his arm minutely, peeking out from under it to glare at Dean. “I’m not trying to be an asshole but the world is a pretty shitty place, you know?”

Cas sighs and sits up a little, propping himself up against the door. “I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t know how the world broke. And I don’t know if there’s a God who can help us fix it anymore. But yes, I absolutely believe that the world is a shitty place—just look around you. I used to think that when I got older, the world would make so much more sense. But actually, the older I get, the more confusing it is to me. There’s more and more chaos and everything is getting harder and the world is complicated and nobody knows what to do about it. And I find myself grasping—reaching out for something I don’t know is there. Have you ever felt that? Just wanting the right thing to fall into the right place. I guess I want to keep believing in that.” 

Dean nods, not knowing what else to say. It’s a pretty intense topic for a first meeting/first date/pillow talk. “That’s faith, right?” Cas just hums in agreement and stretches his whole body out like a cat. “Are you ever going to tell me who your dad is?” 

“Is it important?” 

“I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know.” Cas laughs at the sulk behind his voice and knees him in the chest. 

“He runs a very large corporation that operates within several important markets. One of which is music—” 

“Wait so your dad’s like, a record exec?” 

“No, not really. He just heads the company; other people deal with the individual divisions. My uncle used to run the music sector, but he didn’t like the people he was being forced to sign or the way things were run. My dad wouldn’t do much to help him out; thus Chuck’s was born.” Cas ends with a flourish of his hand in the air and waits for Dean to catch up. 

It takes him a minute. Mainly because he’s still stuck on the idea that Cas’ dad is probably some multi-billionaire who is also scarily influential. “So Chuck – as in the beardy alcoholic who runs the place – is your uncle?” 

“Exactly.” 

“That’s… really weird.” Dean barely ducks Cas’ swipe to his head, and ends up picking up their clothes while he’s down there. They both get dressed with permanent grimaces – there’s nothing quite so disgusting as putting back on clothes that are sticky with beer and smell like an ashtray in the men’s locker room. 

Dean realises that he’s not really sure where they go from here. For him, this is where a night usually ends. But it doesn’t feel right to go shooing Cas away – he doesn’t _want_ to either. He’s thinking of how he’d really like to pass out on his own bed right now, face squashed into his pillow and still fully clothed. He’s thinking that this could be made better only by Cas being there with him, sprawled out in the only double bed he’s ever had to himself. 

“Let’s go back. We can get an early morning snack at the diner, maybe a fresh dose of coffee too.”

“Sure,” Cas smiles, and they’re both clambering back into the front seat.

 

 

**_ Cas _ **

They never quite make it back to the diner. 

Dean’s car still needs looking at, and it breaks down on them somewhere near Ludlow when they decide to see if Free Will are still hanging around. Dean of course thinks it’s a total tragedy and has his forehead pressed against the steering wheel in despair, until Cas forcibly detaches him from it and gives him a kiss for his loss. 

“This honestly never happens,” Dean mutters for the hundredth time. 

“What do we do now?” Because while they could trek to the diner, it also means that they have no way of getting home. Or at least Cas doesn’t, having let Anna walk away with the last of his money. 

“Uh, two options. We find someone to jump the car, or we leave her here and find our way home by train.” Cas really does feel terrible, especially when Dean sounds so put out. So he decides taking action is in order. 

“I’ll go to the grocery store and see if anyone can help us – and you can keep trying to get the car started.” Dean looks at him like a kicked puppy, but nods anyway. 

It’s sort of surreal to be back in the same grocery store that he and Anna had been in only hours earlier. It seems like another lifetime, and considering how much has happened since, it probably could be. He thinks about going home and immediately pushes the thought away. Going home means leaving Dean and voluntarily looking after Balthazar, who is probably tossing and turning in his bed right this second. Going home means begrudgingly admitting to his father that he was right; that Crowley is an asshole and he shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of making future plans around him.

Cas had swapped his and Dean’s numbers on the ride back to Ludlow, and as he walks down the aisles to check if there’s any dirt-cheap food he can buy with some change, he fiddles with his phone. There’s something he wants to say, but he’s not exactly sure how to put it without sounding too forward. Then again, subtly has never been his forte.

“Did you find anyone with jumper cables?” Dean asks as soon as he picks up. 

“Haven’t asked yet. Listen, this is important.” Cas leans back against the freezer in case Dean ends up telling him he’s _so_ over all of this, giving him a place to hide for the next thousand years. “So I’ve been thinking more about Stanford.” 

“Yeah?” Cas tells himself he’s imagining hopefulness in Dean’s voice. 

“Yeah. I think it would be nice to know someone close by.” 

“That’d be cool. Stanford’s a great school, but you might want some friends away from campus.” He can practically hear Dean’s smirk over the phone line. 

“Maybe just one.” 

“Get the cables, Cas,” he laughs, hanging up before Cas can say anything else.

Cas is the first to admit that he knows absolutely nothing about how cars work. He figures there is one obvious option here, and he is going to take it. He walks back to the front of the store and makes sure everyone (all of four people, including the cashier) can hear him when he shouts, “DOES ANYONE HAVE A CAR WITH JUMPER CABLES?” 

Nobody says anything in response; they just stare at him as if his brain has actually fallen out of his head. He shrugs; knowing when to cut his losses, and listens to the voice mail Balthazar left him earlier as he leaves the store.

> _“Cas? Cas. Castiel. Jo and Sam said you’re on a date with their friend—the one with all the clothes that you were eye-fucking at Chuck’s—that guy! And you must be really smitten with him if you’re not answering me right now, because you always answer. I just—I just want to say that I am really very glad that that you’re taking care of yourself instead of me, and that you’re letting yourself have a good time with a guy you like. And when I wake up tomorrow afternoon feeling like microwaved shit, and I call you a tosser for abandoning me, just remind me of this message, okay?”_

Cas tucks his phone back into his pocket, the message saved and a smile on his face.  He strolls back to where the Impala is parked; Dean still slumped in the driver’s seat. “Sorry, no luck whatsoever,” Cas says as he gets back in the car. 

“ _Awesome_.” Dean steps out to open the hood and goes about inspecting the engine, leaving Cas to own devices. He pops open the glove compartment and a whole load of tapes come tumbling out. They’re not all mixes – in fact they’re mostly actual albums and demos. There’s a lot of what Cas expects, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd and Van Halen, but there are a few others that particularly catch his eye. They still look brand new, stickers from the record shop Cas sometimes goes to still in tact on their cases. Dean had said something about how one of his friends from the store always recommends him stuff and Dean keeps buying the tapes for his car and never remembers to actually listen to them. There’s a Neutral Milk Hotel demo near the back, some Blood Red Shoes, The Hives. 

Dean reappears by the window just as Cas goes searching for the little plastic portable boombox he’d seen in the back earlier. “We have to find another way home, I can’t do anything until I’ve got some better tools,” Dean says, and pulls out his wallet to check for money. “ _And_ , I’m fucking broke. Apart from this MetroCard.” 

“Train it is, then.” Cas hops out of the car again and brings the boombox with him, grabbing the first mix he sees to give them what is hopefully an upbeat morning jam. 

“Wait—” Dean grabs Cas’ free arm and pulls him back to face him. “Come home with me. I know it’s not Greenwich Village, but I’ll hate myself if I let you go now. Come back with me and we can sleep until midday and I’ll cook breakfast and I’ll even show you the song I’ve been writing in my head for the past five hours.” 

Cas’ stomach is in knots, somersaulting far more than gravity should allow, but he’s trying to hold back a grin and he ends up mashing his face in Dean’s neck because he feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust. “Yes, okay.” Dean begins to laugh and wraps his arms around him, squeezing him tightly as he leans back against the car. “Will your dad be there?” 

“No, he leaves at the ass-crack of dawn for work or whatever he’s doing.” 

“Good.” Cas lifts his head and Dean leans down for a quick touch of lips, and then Cas is pressing play on the boombox and they’re bounding down the sidewalk to Canal Street with Survivor as their soundtrack. Dean has an arm slung around Cas’ shoulders as they half-run and half-dance, pausing every few feet to kiss and shove at each other, laughing until it’s actually just wheezing as they scream, “IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIGER IT’S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT!” 

The streets are still mostly bare, just a few people opening up shop and laughing to themselves as the two of them pass, either that or judging them _really_ hard, but they hardly notice as they take the steps down to the station two at a time. They already hear the next train coming so Dean runs to the turnstiles and drags Cas behind him, sliding the MetroCard in and passing through. He hands the card over to Cas but disaster strikes _yet again_ , and the machine beeps obnoxiously and reads _insufficient fare_. 

“ _Shit_ , what now?” Cas says frantically. 

“Fuck, just—” Dean clasps Cas’ hand from the other side of the turnstile and grips it tightly with no hint of letting go. “Jump over.” 

Cas freezes. 

His hesitation is the worst possible thing because the train is definitely approaching now and his next move will determine the outcome of him and Dean. He wants to jump, but there are so many things pulling him back. The fact that Dean is the best thing to happen to him and he still barely knows him, next to the fact that Cas feels entirely unremarkable. He’s a hassle and he runs away whenever things get complicated and he’s an awkward virgin – well, sort of – who has no future prospects right now. 

“Cas? Come on, please.” 

Dean is pleading, and the way he says it with such urgency and a quick glance behind him, makes Cas’ heart pound at an alarming rate. There are so many reasons he could think up to stop him from doing this, but none of them compare to the look in Dean’s eyes when he stares at him or the feel of his rough hands on his skin or the sound of his laugh. 

He takes one last look behind him and holds Dean’s hand a little tighter, then jumps.


End file.
